


The Shadow of Rialto

by kingofantiva



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair (Dragon Age) is a Good Friend, All Souls' Day, Antiva (Dragon Age), Antiva City (Dragon Age), Antivan Crows, Antivan Culture and Customs, Assassination, Assassination Plot(s), BDSM, Bath Sex, Canon Compliant, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Age: Origins - Witch Hunt DLC, Espionage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face Slapping, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Murder, POV Zevran Arainai, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Post-Suicide Mission, Public Sex, Raiders of the Waking Sea, References to Depression, Sailing, Stabbing, Submissive Zevran Arainai, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet Zevran Arainai, Torture, Treviso, Velabanchel, Wicked Grace (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai Backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofantiva/pseuds/kingofantiva
Summary: When Zevran abandoned his life as a Crow, he was left in the dark, unsure how to navigate a life without a master. But he trusted Mahariel with all that he had, and following her blind, she helped him find his way once more...(A canon compliant, post-Origins fic, incorporating all that is known about Zevran and Mahariel's post-Origins life, spanning right up to the end of Trespasser. This includes: Zevran tying up lose ends with the Crows in Antiva, relevant DLC events, Zevran in the Free Marches (DA2) and canon-compliant crossovers with other canon character events).
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 62
Kudos: 58





	1. Setting Sail

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's Zevran, this work will be *explicit*. CW for - murder, references to suicide/suicidal thoughts, referenced self-harm, mild gore, torture, and sexual content.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Mia sail to Antiva, where they find a place to call home (for now).

“It is not too late to change your mind,” said Zevran, joining her at the deck’s intricately carved taffrail.

The once grand capital of Ferelden was now but a small shadow on the horizon, a final glimpse of her homeland before she ventured into the vast expanse that was the Waking Sea. The winter air grew colder as the dark waves crashed around the ship, whipping up a bracing wind that threw her lengthy tresses in all directions. To the north, beyond the archipelago surrounding Brandel’s Reach, there were no mountains, no trees, only endless ocean. To a Dalish elf who had spent her whole life moving through inland forest and mountain, it was an unsettling thought.

“This is what I want. I am sure of it,” Mia lied. She had certainly thought about changing her mind.

To her, killing the archdemon seemed a small feat in comparison to spending days on end aboard a ship surrounded by nothing but ocean. She wondered how her clan had fared during their sail to the Free Marches.

“You have not sailed before, have you?” Zevran smirked, noticing Mia’s body tense up as they rolled over a particularly large wave.

“What do you think?” she snapped, gripping the taffrail as the ship jolted her aside.

Zevran laughed. “Just wait till you see Antiva. It will be unlike anything you have ever seen. Even in winter she manages to be beautiful, streets as lively as they are in Solace, and certainly warmer than Denerim. Come the summer months, we shall be drinking fine Seleny wine on our balcony as we watch the sun set over Rialto Bay! Perhaps I shall take you swimming. I know some quiet spots.”

 _Our balcony_. Zevran was certainly trying to sell it to her, but she wondered if he had any sort of plan in mind. Their excursion to Antiva was very much a spontaneous afterthought – it had been _her_ idea after all, and she had not given Zevran long to make arrangements.

“Do you have somewhere for us to stay?” Mia asked.

Zevran pulled his hair out his face and into a neat, low ponytail. “I have an apartment,” he said, “But we cannot go there. Unless you wish to meet my former comrades. I have a feeling they would quite like to pay a visit you know.”

“Perhaps not,” Mia said. The boat jolted violently once more, and her stomach churned. “Is there… anyone you can trust? A family friend?”

“You know my parents are dead. And the women who raised me were glad to have one less mouth to feed, not to mention the coin that they earned for selling me to House Arainai. If I knew which clan my birth mother belonged to, I would have attempted to make contact many years ago,” Zevran said, his eyes glazing over.

Despite frequently making light of his orphan upbringing, dwelling too deeply on his ancestry often left him in a foul mood. No matter how much he searched over the years, he had not been able to find out more about his parents. The whores who raised him had since retired to different parts of the city. During his teenage years he managed to make contact, but they could tell him little, and the little that they did tell he was not entirely sure was true. Especially the story about his father – an elven woodcutter who died from disease, or as someone later suggested, assassination. Zevran soon learned that delving further into these matters was futile. There was simply no way of knowing; it did not bear thinking about.

“I’m sorry,” said Mia, her face pale with nausea. “I know what it’s like. To be deprived of information others seem to have easy access to. My entire clan kept the memory of my parents from me because they thought it would be difficult for me to bear. They were right.”

“So, they told you in the end?”

“Yes,” said Mia, pausing to finally hurl the contents of her stomach overboard. It was becoming clear to Zevran that his beloved was not going to enjoy this journey in the slightest. “They did tell me,” she said, regaining her composure, “And it was not a happy tale. Sometimes it is better not to know.”

 _Perhaps_ , Zevran thought. For the most part, he agreed with Mia on this subject. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. However, there was a part of him that wanted to learn more about the Dalish ways, to experience the life his mother had known. He sometimes wondered if part of his fascination for Mia owed to her Dalish heritage. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he still yearned to see. In spite of his Andrastian upbringing, Zevran found Mia’s religious outlook refreshing. He wondered what it was like to feel the gods amongst the trees, in the light of the moon, to hunt and to sing with them as their spirits danced in the wind. That being said, he could not understand the appeal of living in a forest – to him, it was still a dirty and inconvenient way of life.

“I think… I need to go below deck… for a while. Maybe a few days,” Mia said, clutching her cramping stomach.

 _It's no wonder they have no god of the sea_ , Zevran thought.

Hours turned into days, and days soon turned into weeks. The Kingfisher was faring much better on the mellow, turquoise tides that preceded the approach to Rialto Bay. As Mia adjusted to the rhythmic motion of the ship, she was finally able to enjoy the sun above deck, with Zevran relieved to no longer be woken in the night by the sound of her retching into the chamber pot.

In spite of this, the pair of them began to tire of life on deck. Following over a year of relentless battles, hiking back and forth across Ferelden, and losing sleep over the Blight, they both felt unsettled by the concept of merely _existing_.

Zevran spent the first week staring at the clouds and working his way through the small archive of fiction he discovered in one of the empty cabins. The ship was for the most part empty, save the crew and a couple of wealthy dwarven traders who kept mostly to themselves. Alistair had discreetly granted Mia and Zevran enough coin for a more private voyage, as he was aware that Zevran was a wanted man and did not want Mia to be in any more danger than she was already in.

The passenger ships that departed from Denerim were often uncomfortably crowded, chock-full of people from all walks of life – merchants, soldiers, refugees, adventurers, and occasionally spies. Zevran knew just how easy it was to blend into the rabble on a busy ship. He had done so en route to assassinate his now fiancé. There was no end to the wild and wonderful stories he used as cover for his business in Ferelden. He was something of a charlatan amongst his former companions.

Unfortunately, they were now all too familiar with his deceitful ways; Zevran knew he would have to change his strategy. Having the full weight of House Arainai at his disposal had thus far deterred those who might have been tempted to cause him harm. Upon hearing of the severity of his crimes, not only would all of the Eight Talons and their respective houses mark him for death, but any enemies not affiliated with the Crows would be aware of his vulnerability before long. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, indeed. But Zevran knew the fire would otherwise cook him slowly. He had plans.

The winter sun sat high in the clear blue sky, turquoise waters glittering below. Zevran lay back with his legs propped up against the main mast, shielding his eyes from the sun with the book he was reading. It was his thirty-first book of the voyage. Though Zevran had lost count shortly after number thirteen. When Mia came to sit next to him, he did not look up.

“ _The Unseen World of Nugs: Memoirs of the Nug King,_ ” Mia read to herself. There was a small, childlike illustration of a judgemental looking nug on the front cover. “This journey must be really getting to you.”

Zevran shushed her, flipping the final page. “I’m about to get to the most important part!”

Mia rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself as she got back up to resume her laps of the top deck. She was pretty certain the nug king was an old wives’ tale. At any rate, its memoirs sounded more interesting to her than the thought of patrolling the ship deck for the hundredth time that day. She had been circling the deck since sunrise and it did not look any different. Same old creaking, same old rocking. Over and over. When she ran her fingers through her hair it was stiff with salt from the ocean air. A sensation that was once uncomfortable to her was now simply part and parcel of life on deck. Spending all this time aboard the Kingfisher had forced her to establish a friendship with the sea, though she bore no resentment about this. It looked all the more beautiful to her as they closed the gap to Antiva, no longer grey and bottomless, but transparent and vibrant, cradling the ship in its warm, gentle embrace. When she stopped to lean over the end of the quarterdeck, the briny air licked at her skin and played with her hair. She stretched her body out over the edge to watch the ship carve rifts in the water and to feel the sea spray against her skin.

Such a long journey created a lot of room for thought, but at the same time lent itself to worry. All that she had ever known was far beyond the horizon - a horizon which blended so seamlessly into the sea it was difficult for Mia to believe anything existed on the other side. Venturing into the unknown forced her to place a great deal of trust in Zevran, just as she had done when she spared his life. She knew this, but also that he had not killed her yet. If anything was to be her ending, it would be her blind trust in a man she was irrevocably enamoured by.

The sound of a bell clanged in the distance. When she turned, it was Antiva City.

“Zev!” she cried, jogging to return to him at the mast. He snapped his book shut and hoisted himself to his feet with a loose bit of rigging.

“I don’t believe it,” he spat, tossing his book into the ocean. “Not one word!”

“Zev, _look_!”

When he saw it, his eyes lit up.

He was home.

Painted brick towers lined the bay, stretching out along the rocky coastline and spiralling up a large hill that towered over the lower part of the city. They could hear the shouting of fishermen at the harbour, the distant clamour of lively markets, and the laughter of children playing at the shore. Many other ships passed through the bay; most were fishing vessels and small trading galleys laden with cargo, though there were a few passenger boats headed for Kirkwall. As one of the caravels passed by, a dozen travellers stared curiously at the couple with an ornately painted carrack almost all to themselves.

“I will get our things,” said Zevran, casting a stern glance back at their spectators. Their ship had not even docked, and the paranoia was already setting in. By the time Zevran returned, the ship was slowly pulling into the dock, the harbourmaster already making his way up the jetty to greet the captain. The pair of them did not have many belongings: mainly their weapons, armour, clothes, food, money, and a few choice items of sentimental value. Zevran dumped the bags on the deck by Mia’s feet, then strode over to the captain who was carefully manoeuvring the ship. As Zevran approached, Mia noticed him pull his hair out of his ponytail and quickly ruffle it over the sides of his face, as if trying to obscure it from view. He spoke a few quiet words into the captain’s ear and slipped him a small coin purse, though she could not hear what was being said. The captain nodded and discreetly tucked the purse into the pocket of his breeches. When Zevran returned, he grabbed Mia by the arm and led her below deck. His grip was firm, and his pace felt urgent, so she instinctively obeyed.

Once safely below deck, Zevran perched himself on a barrel let out a defeated sigh.

“We stay on the ship until nightfall,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“You saw the harbourmaster, yes? I know him. I was not expecting him to be checking-in every ship. And I was not expecting to arrive so soon – I thought it would be at least sunset before we saw land. If word has already reached House Arainai… I fear they will have paid him off to watch out for me. We should not have pulled directly into Rialto Bay at this time of day.”

“So? We wait.”

Dismissing her determined stance, Zevran cupped his hands over his mouth and stared into space.

“I am an idiot,” he said eventually. He pressed his elbows into his thighs and began to repeatedly thump a fist into his forehead. Seeing the harbourmaster was a sudden wake up call for him, a harsh reminder that the Antiva he once knew was now rife with spies. The Crows had eyes everywhere. Former friends turned into enemies. He wondered it if was too late to re-join.

“You're _not_ an idiot,” said Mia, taking hold of his wrists and placing her forehead against his. “A lot has changed. You said it yourself back in Denerim. _We’ll manage somehow_.”

He looked up at her, pausing in thought for a while.

“Ever since I was boy,” he said, “The Crows had me under their thumb. A prisoner to their regime, if you like. I came to kill you because I wanted to die.”

“Zev…” she trailed off, unsure what to say. She released his wrists to rest her hands on his shoulders. His arms fell limp at his sides.

“It is true, but you knew this,” Zevran said solemnly. “I thought you would kill me, and at last I would be free. And when you let me live, I thought I was to live under your command instead. Yet you never forced me to stay. I felt freedom I had never felt before, and I did not know what to do with it. So, I stayed with you. And how have I repaid you for granting me my freedom, you ask? I have forced you into the life of a fugitive. It will be like this for years. Don’t you see?!”

“I _chose_ this,” said Mia, biting her tongue so she did not cry. Zevran had only seen her cry once, when Tamlen died. It was not a time she remembered fondly. Tears made her feel awfully vulnerable. Much like Zevran, she also had an unhealthy habit of suppressing inconvenient emotions. While Zevran masked it with an easy-going attitude and inappropriate jokes, Mia by contrast came across cold and unfeeling, unable to make light of the numbness she felt. Over the past year, their relationship had developed an odd dynamic whereby Zevran’s his crude jokes were brushed off relentlessly, which only further fed his desire to impress her. He always had a weakness for women that proved difficult to impress.

“I know you chose this,” he replied, “But I still feel guilty.”

“I chose to follow Tamlen to the eluvian and survived. The Blight should have killed me, but here I am. And now I’m choosing to follow you. If the Crows want to make things difficult, so be it. I will kill however many people it takes for us to live in peace.”

He looked up at her and smiled weakly. His face was mostly devoid of emotion, though Mia could see right through it. It was clear to her he was hurting inside. Thus, before he could self-deprecate any further, Mia took hold of one of his limp hands and locked her fingers with his. She gave a silent nod in the direction of their cabin, so he slid off the barrel and trudged along behind her, having lost the will to continue with the day.

Their cabin was a comfortable size, having served them well throughout their trip. Amidst the shadows lay disorderly piles of books that Zevran had borrowed, some still bookmarked with ripped up strips of parchment. Zevran stood there apathetically, waist deep in thought once again. His own words echoed in his head.

_Years. It will be like this for years._

Mia wedged the door shut with a wad of paper and hauled Zevran’s body over to the bed, pulling him down alongside her. He held her from behind in a tight embrace, her breath steady at first, then slowing into the deep breaths of dream-filled sleep. He would have liked to have joined her straight away, but he found himself unable to quiet his mind for at least an hour.

When he opened his eyes again, the cabin was pitch black.

His heart began to race, his consciousness kindly reminding him of the bleak outlook for the future. The boat creaked eerily, rocking gently as Mia slept. Wispy strands of her hair lay sprawled across his chest, her face gently snuggled into his side. With a gentle hand, he brushed his knuckles against her delicate cheekbone, nudging her softly out of her slumber. He always felt guilty on the rare occasion he had to wake her from a peaceful sleep, as a restful night had not come easily to her over the past year. Zevran could recall countless instances of Mia pulling through the day on little to no sleep because of the nightmares; he respected any sleep she could get now, as he knew she had a large sleep debt still to pay.

“My love,” he whispered, tracing a finger across her cheek. At the sound of his voice, Mia opened her eyes, waking with as much urgency as Zevran had.

Hand in hand, they slunk into the darkness, fumbling their way up the stairs without a candle. From inside their small packs, Zevran pulled out two neatly folded hoods, one of which he tossed to Mia. With their hoods up and fastened, he was satisfied they would blend into the streets without much trouble. Navigating the city was muscle memory to him, and navigating it incognito was as easy as wandering them naturally. Zevran felt a huge weight off his shoulders now that the sky was dark. With confidence in his stride, he gave a grateful nod to the captain, who was slumped in a chair atop the quarterdeck with a bottle of mead in one hand and a rusty tankard in the other. The captain nodded back.

The night air was cool and smelled like seaweed. Even at night the harbour was bustling with activity; Mia realised now why Zevran wanted to wait. As they wove their way through a sea of beggars, fishermen, and labourers unloading their cargo into the warehouses across the street, Mia wondered just how crowded it was during the day. The bell tower that looked over the harbour resonated across the bay. Eight, nine, ten times.

She matched his swift strides as he led her down the dusty, cobbled street. Even at this hour, the streets were filled with people – drunks, harlots, and a great many other hooded figures, most speaking Antivan. It was a beautiful, elegant language, that explained the rich exoticism of Zevran’s accent. They passed a well-lit tavern that smelled of wine and spice. In the open doorway a group of young couples shouted drunkenly at one another, engaged in a colourful debate. At that moment Mia decided she was going to learn Antivan. Although many Antivans were fluent in common tongue, instinct told her it would make her life a lot easier if she blended in. As someone who was already bilingual, she figured it would not be too hard.

They continued straight, following the quiet waters of the West Canal, which was hemmed in either side by tall orange-walled buildings. Endless lines of laundry were strung from the upper windows like bunting. Many of the windows had quaint little shutters, which were kept open despite it being winter. The lower levels of the street were lined with dim, orange lanterns, which were barely able to showcase the surprising variety of colour that Antivan streets had to offer. Flower-boxes in the windows, warm-toned walls, decorative pottery covered in geometric motifs, ivy covered archways. The list could go on. Despite its beauty, the canal water had a pungent stench to it that made Mia’s nose wrinkle. Denerim was colourless and cold in comparison, but it certainly smelled better.

At the end of the street the canal opened into a wide body of water, almost twice the width of the harbour. Here, the River Cosia curved round to open into the bay, joining with the canal. The street stopped at a dead end and before them stood a three-story building with a painted swing sign mounted to its wall. An ornate lantern with panes of deep red glass swayed in the ocean breeze.

“Welcome to The Perfumed Spring,” Zevran said.

It did not take the sight of scantily clad women to convince Mia it was a brothel. The common room smelled like pipe-weed and incense. A pretty young girl in a blue silk slip played the lute in the corner while a dozen patrons drank at tables, ogling the topless serving girls. The room was poorly lit, as these establishments often were, and luxurious red fabrics were draped across the walls.

“Zevran!” came the voice of a graceful looking elf, who rushed over to him, abandoning the lap of a now disgruntled looking old man. The girl was no more than thirty, with ethereal silvery locks that fell about her shoulders in gentle waves. Her pointed ear was pierced at least three times with three rings made from the same textured silver as the beads in her hair. Mia thought she was beautiful.

“Elena,” said Zevran, surprised to see she was still here. Elena embraced him, truly overjoyed he had come to visit. The pair greeted each other in Antivan before switching to common tongue, out of politeness for Mia, who Zevran introduced as ‘a friend from Ferelden’.

“Are the rumours true?” Elena asked him quietly. Zevran brushed her off, asking for the whereabouts of Madam Costanza, the owner of the Perfumed Spring. He strode through the common room and peered through a gap in a curtained-off archway. Regardless, Elena followed him. “One week I’m being told you are dead, and the next…”

“Yes? What were you told?” said Zevran when she trailed off, his voice suddenly cold and demanding .

Elena looked around sheepishly and came close to his ear.

“Guildmaster Eoman… he’s not happy,” Elena said. Zevran clenched his jaw.

“Go on…”

“I had a client a few weeks ago. We started talking. About everything. I only mentioned you in passing, but they said they knew someone. One of the higher-ups in House Arainai. They said you _killed_ Taliesen. Is it true? I refused to believe him, Zev. You wouldn’t kill Taliesen. I know you wouldn’t - you liked Taliesen… we all liked him.”

“Shit,” Zevran hissed, heading for the curtained archway. Mia followed, equally unsettled by the news.

“Zev! Don’t walk away from me. Tell me it’s not true!” she pleaded quietly, clearly irritated, but trying not to cause a scene. Elena rushed after him and grabbed his arm. “Listen to me. My client – he said Eoman is looking for you. They have a bounty on your head. If they find you… Maker help you.”

Zevran listened to her words but did not respond, instead heading through the curtained archway into a small room full of floor cushions and lanterns. In the corner, a tall, elegant woman adorned with heavy golden jewellery organised some papers at a desk. It was Madam Costanza. She turned to scold the intruder, but upon realising who it was, raised a curious eyebrow.

“My, my. Mister Zevran Arainai. Risen from the grave to raid my office, have you?” sneered in a heavy Antivan dialect. Her voice was low, hoarse, and carried an air of authority that was known to make even Zevran uncomfortable. Mia slunk into the room behind him, leaving Elena to her duties.

“Contrary to the apparent rumours, I am indeed still alive,” he replied in common tongue. “Listen, I am not here for simple pleasures. I need a favour.”

“As usual,” she sighed, sinking down into the plush chair behind her desk and massaging her temples. “What is it this time?”

“You see, my friend and I,” he said, gesturing to Mia, “Are in a somewhat… tricky situation. I was wondering if we could seek refuge in the attic room for a short while. My apartment has been… compromised.”

“Do not try to fool me, Zevran. I know who your _friend_ is. That’s the Hero of Ferelden, the one who killed the archdemon. The Perfumed Spring has ears, as you well know. If you’re not dead, and Taliesen has not returned… yet you return with a Dalish foreigner who looks exactly as the tales describe her...”

“Madam…”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The sound of a creaking bed and loud, obnoxious moans resonated from the room above. Madam Costanza tapped the point of her quill against the desk thoughtfully.

She clicked her tongue. “ _If_ I let you stay, you will swear on the Maker that there will be no trouble,” she began.

“I swear it,” Zevran interjected.

“I am only doing this because I care. That, and because you have done a lot for us. We were all disappointed to hear you'd died. But remember this – I care about my girls a great deal more than I care about you. Kill who you need to kill. But do not leave a trail back to here. If you put us in danger for even an instant, I will hand you into the Crows without a second thought. I could certainly use the coin.”

“Understood,” said Zevran. “It will only be temporary. Besides, we have gold. And this time my contracts will be free of charge.”

“So you are a freelance assassin now,” she said, looking at him askance.

“Hm? Oh, not at all. I prefer to see it as… upholding the traditions of Antiva.”


	2. Blood and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran has nightmares haunted by memories of past trauma and reminders of his inner regrets. Mia tries to settle into their new accommodation.

His dreams were haunted by twisted memories that night. Two young boys in armour as black as night, stone walls that echoed with screams, and Rinnala struggling in a sea of blood. 

The dream was a familiar one, despite having hoped he was rid of it. It began with two boys, no older than seven, sitting on a bench in Grandmaster Talav’s office. Zevran recognised the scrawny, malnourished elven child and his meek, dark-haired friend; he wanted to reach out and save them. Talav strolled back and forth, his footsteps enough to make them flinch. 

“You should be proud of yourselves. Sixteen boys died today so that you may be reborn as Crows,” said Talav. 

In the dream, Zevran was but a shadow in the doorway, though he felt to his core the terror of his younger self. Little Taliesen stretched out a trembling hand and inched it towards young Zevran’s fingertips. He began to cry quietly. 

“Pathetic,” hissed Talav, striking Taliesen’s cheek with a hand adorned with golden rings. The boy fell to the floor, whimpering. “You will have to do better,” he said, striking Taliesen again, harder this time. 

The pain of watching this again was excruciating; Zevran reached out to shield his friend, aware of the horrors that were to come next. The interference broke the memory instantly, causing Taliesen’s face to shift and change, until a much older Taliesen lay before him on the weathered floorboards. Blood poured endlessly from a deep laceration in his neck, yet his eyes stared up unfazed by the injury. There was a bitterness in his gaze, an expression that reflected Zevran’s inner regrets like still water in the moonlight. 

“Eighteen little crows, and now there's only one,” sang Talav. Zevran tried to suppress the bleeding on Taliesen’s neck, yet the task seemed futile. The blood was endless and passed through his hands as if they were not there at all. 

“I was only trying to help you Zevran. Why would you do this to me? Why do you have to _hurt_ everyone that loves you?” said Taliesen, his adult voice devoid of emotion. 

Yet the words ate away at Zevran’s conscience like flies on a corpse. 

He fought himself free from the thought, only to find himself strapped to a table inside a dark room where the light was so scarce, he could only make out a chair in the corner. Upon this chair sat Taliesen – the sheer sight of him was now enough to make Zevran turn in his sleep. In this scene he was able to see his own body, which was covered from head to toe in welts, bruises, and a series of cuts that spelled out various words. Trying to read them only made the letters jumble. 

“Does it make you feel better? Casting all memory of us aside. As if we meant _nothing_ to you.” 

“I am sorry, Taliesen.”

“Does it make you feel powerful? To feel nothing.” 

“You left me no choice.” 

“Day after night I sailed across the Amaranthine to protect you from them. To protect you from a traitor’s punishment.” 

“Taliesen-” 

“You know though,” he laughed, “You know they are still searching for you. _They never forget_. You know it will be worse than any torture you have ever endured.” 

Taliesen moved towards him to rest a hand on his cheek, caressing it the way he used to, many moons ago. But his voice was cruel. 

“And to think you thought your little Grey Warden was safe”, said Taliesen. “The last person alive that truly loves you, yet you sentence her to death as well.” 

“Stop it.” 

Zevran’s torturers moved up beside him, with terrible devices in their hands that made parts of his body feel uncomfortable at the mere sight of them. He began to struggle against his bonds, yet the more he struggled, the more paralysed his body felt. It soon felt as if he had no body at all. 

“The eighteenth little Crow,” came a sinister voice from the shadows, casting the shadowed room into the light. Neither the torturers nor Taliesen were anywhere to be seen. He soon found himself on his feet, strolling through a pleasant residential courtyard in the height of Antivan summer. He unsheathed his dagger and held it with both hands as it gleamed in the harsh sunlight. The blade was as red as the rose petals that swirled in the air around him. There were no shadows to be seen, no more distortions. The dream was as clear as day. A clarity that was soon followed by panic. 

As the blade met its victim once more in a rush of steel and tears, he could hear Rinnala screaming. "Zev please... Maker... no!” she shrieked. A hundred crows flocked across a cloudless sky. "Zev…” 

"Rinna," he called back, fighting desperately to regain control of his body. “Rinna, I’m sorry…” 

A bird cawed at the window and rapped its beak on the shutters. 

Zevran opened his eyes, panting and covered in sweat. If it was not for the bird, he thought, he might have been much worse off. Those were not his only repressed memories, after all. Seeking comfort, he turned to see Mia bundled up in the sheets next to him, her breathing soft and peaceful as she slept. In that moment he felt repulsed at himself for bringing her to Antiva, for setting her up for death and disappointment when all she had wanted was for him to be happy. 

He pushed himself upright, cupping his face with his hands on the edge of the bed. He had not expected his darkest memories to return so vividly. It did not bode well that they had. 

With a long exhale, Zevran threw on some linen underclothes and wandered over to the balcony of the dark attic room. The balcony was small but had a magnificent view over Rialto Bay. The morning sun was hidden behind a thick layer of cloud above him, which was stained an eerie shade of blue. From his perch, he could see half of the city. Many of the rooftops he recognised, having spent many contracts jumping from roof to roof and fleeing from his targets’ windows. Some buildings brought back fond memories of his youth - others not so much. 

For most of his time in Ferelden and throughout his voyage back to Antiva, the trauma of his past and his concerns about the future rarely troubled him. A great deal of his mental energy had been spent constructing a plan that made perfect sense to him, one that he was beginning to feel optimistic about. After returning to Antiva, however, he was starting to second-guess everything. He thought that perhaps all his optimism thus far owed to him riding the high of his freedom, his renewed purpose, his new lover, and the end of the Blight. All these things were sufficient to mask the emptiness for a time, but intuition told him these joys could not last forever. 

Zevran stared longingly down at the paved floor of the alley below. 

The all-consuming emptiness that had stripped him of hope before his final contract began to return once more. It felt like sinking to the bottom of the ocean, sinking into a silence that could only be broken by his own cruel words. 

He remembered Rinna’s tears, Taliesen’s eyes, how they haunted him so. He thought that maybe his inner critic had some sense after all, that he really did bring death to everyone who ever loved him. 

Zevran felt his life was running around in circles. The mistakes, the emptiness. He asked himself if it was ever going to end, or if it was up to him to break the cycle one way or another. His head felt like it was swimming through a sea of mud and his stomach began to churn. 

A scrawny looking child darted through the street below, following a mangy looking dog. Zevran watched with regretful eyes, wondering what it would have been like if the Crows had never come for him. The individuals who sold him were now a little bit richer, as were his masters. Zevran had not missed his freedom, especially after he had grown accustomed to the Crows’ ways. All it took was a political struggle within their ranks to pull the wool from his eyes. And now he knew it had truly broken him. 

“Zev, what are you doing?” 

The chill from the open balcony had awoken her. 

“I thought I’d catch the sunrise,” he lied. 

Mia paused, looking at him askance when she saw the sunless sky and heard the sadness in his response. It was a stark contrast to his default upbeat tone. 

“I think you’re out of luck,” she said. 

Still faced towards the bay, Zevran felt Mia’s arms wrap around him from behind, her cheek pressing into the middle of his back. For a few moments they stood in a silent embrace, taking in the fresh morning air. When her hand slid playfully south, he instead took it in his, and led her inside. 

“Brush me off then,” she muttered. 

“Breakfast?” he suggested, pretending he had not heard her, still recovering from what he could still remember of his dream. He opened all the shutters to offer some light, but tucked Mia back into their rickety four-poster bed. Both of them were glad to finally have a bed that did not rock as they slept. 

“It’s not fish chowder, is it?” 

“Tsk tsk. Tired of the delicacy of my beloved home city already, are we? You wound me,” Zevran laughed, scooping yesterday’s clothes off the floor and beginning to dress himself. “But no, that is what’s for supper.” 

Mia sighed. 

In Zevran’s absence, Mia took it upon herself to rearrange her new living space. Being Dalish after all, she felt awfully confined when confronted with urban living. During the Blight, she had spent the majority of her time camping. The freedom of the outdoors offered much more privacy than most humans would expect. If one wanted to be alone in a sedentary society, they would often have no choice but to hole themselves up in their room. Mia, on the other hand, was used to the privacy of the open landscape, returning to her tent for only sleep or shelter. 

Although the attic room was small, the slanted ceiling created an illusion of spaciousness. Other than the rickety four-poster bed, there was a small fireplace, a faded woven tapestry depicting a minstrel with a feather in her hat, an old vanity made of dark wood, and a small square table and chairs pushed against the window. There was even a small bathtub, which was quite a luxury for common folk, although were essential in places such as The Perfumed Spring. 

Now that she could see the room in daylight, Mia was unable to ignore the cobwebs, dust, and rotten bowl of fruit in the corner. Pulling her long hair back into a hair tie, she threw back the fresh bedlinen and padded across the room, tossing the rotten apples out into the dingy back alley. It did not take her long to dust the room; a spot of fresh morning air made a considerable difference too. She even headed out for a pail of seawater to wipe down any suspect looking stains. 

She sang a Dalish folksong as she scrubbed, a song Ashalle used to sing to her as a little girl. Music was all she had left of her clan now; she liked to sing in her moments alone. It helped her keep the memory of her people alive. A memory of all she had lost. As she sang, she could not help but think of Zevran; he was not himself. It occurred to her that he probably thought she was none the wiser, though Mia was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. She could see the black dog that clouded his thoughts, the darkness that lingered behind the mask. She could see it because she sometimes felt the same, albeit not as intensely. 

With the quietest of footsteps, Zevran slunk into the room with a cloth-covered basket in one hand, and a bunch of red roses in the other. He sat in the chair behind her without a sound, captivated by the enchanting elven tune. 

“It is not often I hear you sing,” he said after Mia finished her verse. 

“No,” she said, turning to offer him a rueful smile. She pushed herself off the floor. “I suppose I thought it might irritate you.” 

“ _Mi amore,”_ he purred, pulling her onto his lap, “I find it quite beautiful, as a matter of fact.” He presented the roses to her, their velvety petals perfectly positioned without a single sign of age. Together, they feasted on fresh bread, smoked cheese, and warm coffee, which Mia had never had the pleasure of trying before. She had heard of such a drink being popular in Antiva but had not seen it in Ferelden. Sometimes particularly devout nobles would denounce it as the drink of demons, though Mia could not see why. Zevran was simply relieved to have it back in his life again. 

The faint sound of snoring from the rooms below was soon replaced by the pour of torrential rain. 

“Now _this_ is the Antiva I remember,” Zevran chuckled. The room was lit with several candles and lanterns, providing a cosy contrast to the weather outside. Smiling discreetly to herself at the sentiment, Mia began to arrange the roses in a small ceramic vase. 

“So, what now?” she asked. 

“Good question. With the Blight I almost forgot how to live as a normal person. Shall I recite you some poetry?” 

“No.” 

“We could go swimming.” 

“In this weather?” 

“Maybe not,” sighed Zevran. He paused, rapping his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Ah, I have a proposition for you.” 

“I’m listening,” said Mia, not expecting much. 

Zevran’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Since we met, I’ve noticed your interest in the... macabre side of life. The way you enjoyed being trained in the ways of the Crows. That look of satisfaction you get when your prey is caught.” 

“Are you calling me a sadist?” she said, drawing a single rose from the vase to trim its stem. 

“No, no. Well... not more of a sadist than I,” he said, resting his elbows on the table. “I was thinking more along the lines of... one who takes pleasure in the hunt. Remember the fun you had running Master Ignacio’s little errands?” 

“Are you suggesting we pass the time by committing a murder?” 

Zevran laughed. “Are you opposed to such a suggestion?” 

“Look, I know we took part in some shady deeds back in Ferelden, but they were for the greater good. I am still a Grey Warden – I am supposed to be a protector of the people.” 

From inside his pocket, Zevran slid a crumpled piece of paper across the table and sat back, arms folded, clearly proud of his creation. 

“What is that supposed to be? Your dating history?” she sneered, still focused on pruning the rose. 

“Very funny,” replied Zevran. “But no, I made this list on our way to Antiva. Half of these people will not rest till they see me tortured, or worse. If these people are allowed to live, I will risk a slow and painful death for the rest of my days. While the thought of playing hide and seek forever is intriguing, I think I would rather cut to the chase.” 

“And the other half?” 

“The other half simply deserve to die. The reason I do not fear death is because these people have shown me that there are things far worse. I do not wish any more children to suffer as I did.” 

Hearing these words finally caught her attention. Mia’s eyes skimmed the list of names. They meant nothing to her, but it was enough to know they were the cause of Zevran’s pain. “You make a compelling argument. Fine. Who’s first?” 

“I knew you would warm up to the idea,” he said. “Guildmaster Eoman Arainai is looking for me, so I hear. And he betrayed me.” 

“Rinna,” said Mia. She could vaguely recall the story Zevran told her during their travels in Ferelden. Despite not knowing the woman, Mia knew what it was like to lose a lover. The closest she had come to avenging Tamlen was ending the Blight, though it offered her little comfort. 

“You remember the story, I see,” he said. “Eoman is a priority. But I think perhaps we should start with a few easy targets first. I think a warm up is necessary, no?” 

Mia hissed and cursed in pain as she pricked her finger on a rose thorn. 

“And perhaps a lesson or two in household safety...” he muttered, rising from his chair to examine her finger. A tiny red bead began to well up on her fingertip, so Zevran put it in his mouth and sucked on it to staunch the flow. When the stinging subsided, Mia could not help but find this strangely arousing, given her urges had been rejected earlier that morning. She explored his lips with her fingers, his breath warm against her hand. 

It was difficult for her to resist him sometimes, especially when he looked at her like _that._

Outside, the sky exploded into a dark, thunderous roar, followed by blinding flashes that lit up the room through the windows. Out of curiosity, the two of them rushed to the balcony to catch the view. The peaceful Rialto Bay they arrived at yesterday was now sat under a gloomy grey sky lashed by purple flashes of lightning. They watched in awe of this spectacular view, ignoring the rain, which soaked their clothes right through in a matter of seconds. It was a liberating feeling for both of them. Looking over Antiva in the eye of the storm with a newfound purpose filled them with an optimism for the future that neither had felt since the night of Alistair’s coronation. 

When Zevran turned to look at her, she caught his gaze, then pushed him against the edge of the balcony and kissed him hard as the sky cracked around them. She pressed her wet clothes against his as her fingers glided through his drenched blonde locks. Mia had him leant precariously back over the alley below, which was a fair few storeys down. When he pushed her away, his expression was not that of lust, but of raw emotion. There was no longer a mask. 

“I love you,” he said. 

The words came as a shock to Mia. She wondered if he had been possessed by a demon – Zevran rarely interrupted passionate moments with romantic sentiments, let alone speaking directly of love. It occurred to her now that he had never once uttered those three words. And it was only after they had passed his lips that she realised how much she needed to hear them. 

“I mean- I..” he stuttered. “I just wanted to- I just meant...” 

Mia pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him. “I love you too,” she said, amused at his discomfort. “ _Ar_ _lath ma,_ _vhenan_ _.”_


	3. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having adjusted to life back in Antiva, Zevran decides the time has come for Guildmaster Eoman to meet his end.

Mia climbed the narrow staircase to the attic, trying to put herself in the correct headspace for the long night ahead. The Perfumed Spring was at its busiest this time of night, so pacing around the dimly lit corridors at this time was not going to disturb anybody. Outside, the salty air swirled above the silent waters of the bay, and the streets were still bustling with merchants and drunkards. Inside, the upstairs rooms were fully booked and the air was thick with the smell of incense. Mia was used to it now, but hated that her clothes always smelled of the stuff. 

She reached the door, which Zevran had left open, and rubbed her eyes wearily. The night was young, yet she felt an overwhelming urge to bury herself under the bedsheets with a good book and a glass of wine. Alas, this was a work night. 

Zevran was reclined in the corner by a candle, legs propped up on the table. He had been there for most of the evening, scribbling in his journal and preparing his gear. He had been emotionally distant for much of the week, always going on long walks, always forgetting what Mia was saying to him, always forgetting to kiss her goodbye when he went to the bakery each morning. He even stared out of the window for an entire hour one day prior, simply watching the birds nesting on the rooftops. Mia knew him well enough to know he became this way when overly focused on something. So, she had left him alone. 

But now it was her time to aid him in his mission. 

She stood in the doorway until he noticed her, hands on hips, eyes hard and unsmiling. The candle was burning low. Zevran dared his fingers above the flame. “Are you ready?” he asked in a stern voice. 

“Let’s get this done,” said Mia, forever the strategist. Though unlike in Ferelden, this time _she_ was the follower. 

They snuffed out the candles, locked the door, and headed downstairs. Elena shot them a guarded look as they passed by, her slender form straddling an eager customer. Zevran made a discreet signal with his hand to reassure her, and pushed through the rowdy customers and scantily clad women until he found the exit. 

“Whatever happens, we’re not to leave a blood trail back here,” he said sternly, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood. 

“Understood,” said Mia, matching his quickening strides. The two of them slunk into the night, blending into the streets of Antiva without much difficulty. Their gear was plain, genderless, nondescript. Nothing to identify them and nothing to arouse suspicion. Plenty of merchants wore hoods in Antiva – and there _were_ plenty. And they _all_ had secrets – sometimes expensive ones. 

To Mia, the city of Antiva seemed endless. They wove their way past storehouses and inns and fish markets, guildhalls and taverns and whorehouses, all stacked one upon another along tightly packed streets where crowds never seemed to disperse. Their route eventually led them to a quieter part of town where the streets were eerily empty in contrast to the rest of the city. Mia did not get the impression that it was a derelict area; she felt it was a place not many people dared to go. 

Zevran finally stopped before a grandiose, stone-walled building that was three stories tall, the lamplight from its windows lighting up the dark, empty piazza outside. There was a small fountain in front of the grand double doors, either side of which hung small red banners with a black, feathered eye mask. The mark of House Arainai. 

“Now, I hope you remember the plan,” he said, standing aside her at the mouth of a narrow alleyway on the opposite side of the piazza. The sounds of music and laughter echoed across from the bright arched windows. A couple of men in dark uniforms leant against the wall outside conversing as their friends jeered at them drunkenly from an upstairs window. 

Mia chewed her lip, but then quickly stopped in case Zevran saw and mistook it for nerves. She rehearsed the steps in her head, over and over. The risks were high, and if they were to fail it was more likely to endanger her life over his. It was not about skill; Zevran was more recognisable to House Arainai, especially with such a distinctive facial tattoo. So, the less time he spent on the premises the better. 

“And what if he recognises me?” she whispered. 

“Then use it to your advantage.” 

“And what if I can’t?” 

“I do not take people on my missions for fun. If I doubted your skill, I would have done it myself. Eoman is well-prepared for break-ins and attempts on his life. You are to distract him from such organised measures, _comprendes_?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

Zevran turned on his heel and vanished into the darkness without another word, just as he had done on the night he first tutored Mia, leaving her alone on the wide, empty street. Her skin prickled in the evening chill, but she did not feel alone. The shadowed corners, rooftops, and multitude of alleys that opened into the square brought her the comforting thought that he was there, watching over her. 

Mia counted three sequences of the clocktower bell before she got her first look at their target. He was middle-aged, with a pockmarked face and a permanently furrowed brow. _You are becoming quite the obstacle,_ Mia thought to herself, ushering a quick prayer to Elgar'nan and Mythal before following his trail into the cobbled alleyway to the right of the Arainai headquarters. _Leliana would know what to do,_ she thought. But Leliana was far from her now. She missed her. 

The alley seemed to go on forever. There were no shopfronts here, just plain wooden doors with creaky hanging lanterns outside, from which shady figures, who Mia presumed were Crows, would occasionally pass between. Everyone who passed by Eoman greeted him with respect, with either a small nod or a courteous smile. It was not that they liked him, it was more that they feared him. Feared what they would become if they were to displease him. One man handed him a bottle of wine and a small ledger, before slipping off back to the main hall to enjoy an evening of card games and drinking. Mia knew what it was like to have such presence now that she was the Hero of Ferelden. She certainly felt flattered by it, but could not say she craved the notoriety. And today, recognition was the last thing she wanted. 

After a while, Eoman stopped before a dark red door guarded by two pots of violets that were just beginning to bloom. This was just as Zevran had described it to her. Eoman’s personal quarters, where he would be alone at this time of day. 

“Excuse me,” she said, not removing her hood, “May I borrow a moment of your time, ser?” 

“What is it now?” he replied, fumbling with his keys in the lock before turning back to look at her. When Eoman failed to recognise her as one of his own, his hand began to move towards the expensive looking dagger at his belt. 

“I have information on the whereabouts of Zevran of House Arainai,” she said. 

“ _He_ is no longer of this House,” he spat, his accent thick and his tone unwelcoming. “But there is a price on his head. Remove your hood.” 

Mia hesitated, but knew he was not likely to take no for an answer. When she pulled it back and her hair collapsed at her shoulders, Eoman raised his eyebrows. Something told Mia that he was too perceptive to miss the faded vallaslin branded across her forehead and cheekbones, even in such poor light. 

“Ah, yes. Your continued existence has been quite the mark of shame for our House. I mean that not as an indictment of your character. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

Mia remained silent. 

“You may enter,” he said, pushing the door wide, the large iron keychain jingling in the keyhole. There was a key for almost every door in the estate. “But you will hand me those knives first.” 

“As you wish,” she said, planting them firmly in his palm and following his lead. 

Mia watched Guildmaster Eoman light at least a dozen lanterns about the place, before permitting her to follow him upstairs into a well-furnished lounge decorated with faded maroon rugs and tapestries. On the other side of the room there was a large archway framed by thick velvet curtains, leading to a large balcony with a pitch-black view. There were stacks of neatly organised papers and several tall hardwood bookcases. Eoman gestured for her to sit. A demand, not a suggestion. 

“Wine?” he said, fetching a couple of glasses from the cabinet and planting the bottle on the low table in front of her. She eyed it up suspiciously. When he sat down opposite her without receiving an answer, a sly grin spread across his face. “You are not _my_ target, don’t worry. I am not doing that _nagale’s_ job for him. He knows he cannot show his face here while you are still breathing.” 

He held out a glass of wine for her. “It’s Orlesian,” he said. Mia obliged and pretended to nose it appreciatively. Eoman pushed back his short, silver-flecked hair, watching her closely as she took a sip. 

“So, tell me, what became of him?” he said. 

“He ambushed me. I defeated him,” she replied bluntly, wondering just how much he already knew. She thought it was safest to assume he knew a lot. “After the Blight ended, I followed him here to catch him before he catches me.” 

“I see,” he said, reclining. The wrinkle on his brow deepened. 

“I know where he is hiding. I want to see him dead-” 

“You lie,” he said, his dark eyes piercing into her. “You took him prisoner, bedded him, and recruited him.” 

“I am not denying this. Have you never recruited someone you knew you were going to kill?” 

Eoman smiled. “Of course,” he said, taking a large sip from his glass, “So why haven’t you killed him yet?” 

“I thought we might be able to benefit from some sort of... mutual agreement,” she said, flashing him a playful grin. 

After giving himself a moment to think, Eoman disappeared into the other room and returned with another bottle of wine and a platter of crab cakes. “Help yourself,” he said. Mia was relieved to see that he was starting to relax. The tension had been spoiling her mood. 

“The man who issued the contract is now dead,” Mia said. 

“It is not that simple. Zevran is still obliged to fulfil the contract, it doesn’t matter whether his client is dead. That’s simply how it works.” 

“He's in love with me,” said Mia, trying to feign amusement at the situation. “I’ve spent enough time with him to know he wouldn’t be able to kill me.” 

Eoman sat back with folded arms. “Well why have you kept him around for so long? Are you an idiot?” 

“Well, I thank you for your tact, ser,” Mia scoffed. “But if you can believe it, I did have a plan. We initially kept him alive for questioning, with the intention of killing him later. Then we cut his bonds, and much to our surprise, he pledged to aid us in our cause. It was then I realised he was in love with me.” 

“You were foolish to release him,” Eoman said. 

“I realise that now. However, he became an invaluable resource to us. I encouraged his feelings towards me because I was concerned about what would happen otherwise.” 

“That was still foolish,” said Eoman, who was opening a new bottle of wine. He refilled Mia’s glass, even though she had not yet finished. 

“What’s done is done. I’ve killed an archdemon, so I must have done something right.” 

“That is beside the point,” he said. “If you do not care for him also, which is what my sources have been telling me, then why did you not kill him the moment the archdemon was slain?” 

“Because he ran away.” 

“And you followed him here?” 

“Yes, because he now knows I'm a threat. I can't risk keeping him alive despite his feelings for me.” 

Eoman let out a heavy sigh and swirled the wine around his glass. “And you do not care for him? Not at all?” 

“Can’t stand him.” 

“Then we do indeed share a common goal,” he said. Those words were a weight off Mia’s chest. She had woven herself a web of lies - now she could sit back and enjoy the wine. 

A sinister grin spread across her face. “I’m hoping to make my trip to Antiva worth my while. Perhaps some sightseeing. Would you be kind enough to show me inside the famous Velabanchel? We could take Zevran there – I’d hate to give him a quick death.” 

Eoman was taken aback, though Mia could tell the idea excited him. 

“Ah, you are a woman after my own heart,” he said. “Not many outsiders have the stomach for what happens in there.” 

“I’ve seen many things, Guildmaster...” 

There was still no sign of Zevran. Mia glanced over at the dark sky through the open entrance to the balcony and wondered how long she could keep up her guise. The wine was already beginning to make her feel unsteady and off her guard. She wondered if Zevran was listening somewhere, waiting for her to do something, or if something awful had happened to him during his part of the operation. 

Pleasantly tipsy, Mia let herself sink into the plush, cushioned bench and stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling. _What now,_ _Zevran_ _?_ she thought, _W_ _hat now?_

A bird cawed outside, finding its way through the darkness to perch itself on the balustrade outside. When Mia looked up, she felt the bench depress as Eoman perched himself next to her. 

“Now that we have come to an agreement, you would be permitted to stay at our estate until you return to Ferelden,” he said, sitting so close that his knee was pressing up against hers. Mia shuffled in her seat. “Unless you have somewhere else to stay,” he said, listening eagerly for her answer. 

“Ah, well I only arrived yesterday,” she lied, “I rented a room at an inn-” 

“Which inn?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Well, it is getting quite late...” he said. His tone was not subtle and his breath smelled of wine. “You could always... stay here.” 

Although the offer was not overly appealing to her, Mia knew that she had to bide her time for as long as possible. And if leaving was not an option, there was little choice left but to indulge him. 

“I could be tempted,” she said, allowing him to edge ever closer, not giving him any signal that he should not advance. When he went in for the kiss, she kissed back, not advancing the situation any more than she needed to, because she most definitely was not interested. His kisses were soft and he touched her body with gentle hands, never overstepping his boundaries. After what seemed to Mia like an entire century of kissing, she opened her eyes to glance over once again at the balcony. 

There was nothing. Not even a silhouette in the doorway. 

Eoman pulled back to ask her if everything was alright, and in a sudden surge of frustration she downed the rest of her glass and climbed on top of him, slamming him back against the sofa and tearing off her shirt. She placed kisses along his leathery neck and let his weathered hands grasp at her breasts. _Sylaise'abelas_ _, where are you?_ she thought, every kiss more agonising than the last. 

When she discovered nothing had changed, she lured Eoman onto the bed next door, resigning to the uncomfortable fact she may have to finish the man off, and not in the way Zevran was going to. 

“I can see why Zevran likes you,” Eoman later decided, as she bounced on top of him reluctantly. Mia tried to shut out his voice and focus on the open door, thinking of anything but him. To her delight, almost as soon as she willed the gods to make Zevran appear in that doorway, the elusive assassin made an appearance. Mia tried her best not to react despite herself and pulled Eoman up towards her lips, so that his head was facing away from the door, and began to moan louder to muffle Zevran’s quiet footsteps. Mia closed her eyes and kissed as passionately as she could, before she felt a hand come swiftly between them and the warmth of his blood spray onto her front. Eoman collapsed back onto the bed. And that was it. 

“I hate you,” she said to Zevran, pushing herself off the corpse. 

“I am sorry, _mi amore._ ” He wiped his blade on the bedsheets and threw her a commiserative towel he found on the bedside table. Mia snatched it and wiped the blood from her body without a thanks. “Here,” he said, pulling a blade from beneath Eoman’s pillow and nudging a crossbow from under the bed with his foot. “He has this stuff all over the house. Locks his bedroom door at night. Sets up traps. Ever heard of a Dragon’s Crèche?” 

“No.” 

“Buildings that kill all who enter. He likes those. Builds them with his friends for fun, in fact. This is why I needed you to let his guard down. Didn’t I, Master?” he said, grabbing Eoman’s lifeless face. When Zevran looked at him he felt pure hatred, the man who took Rinnala from him, the man who turned Taliesen against him. Eoman was the man who nearly drove Zevran to take his own life. The mere thought of it made Zevran dig his fingers into Eoman’s cheeks. Zevran stared at the deep gash in his master’s neck – his task was complete, yet he was surprised to discover that vengeance did not taste as sweet as he thought it would. He felt nothing. 

“It’s a good start,” he said. 

Mia, now fully clothed, marched over to Zevran and pushed him in a sudden rage. 

“If you think I am doing this for everyone on your list, you can think again. I am not spending the rest of my days whoring myself out so you can play politician.” 

“ _Amore,_ no,” he said, anxious about the offense he had caused her. “The others on the list will not be like this. I will not need to ask this of you again. I can handle the others myself.” 

His words were enough to convince her that he was not taking the situation lightly. 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” he said, caressing her cheek so that she would look up at him. “I never intended for you to feel this way. I just wanted us to be safe.” 

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to do this alone. It’s okay.” 

He planted a kiss on her forehead and led her by the hand to the lounge, where they found Mia’s confiscated weapons. Zevran cleaned the second wine glass in a nearby basin and placed it carefully back in the cabinet. Once satisfied the crime scene was adequately adjusted, he led her to the balcony and hoisted her over the balustrade, where the two hooded elves descended into the darkness below. 

The belltower sounded once when the pair reached the other side of the city. The taverns were still open and the streets were still bustling with drunken revellers and shady figures, although it was not as crowded as it had been earlier that evening. Now in a much lighter mood, Zevran walked leisurely, squeezing Mia’s hand in between episodes of light conversation. The crisp spring air was a little warmer than it had been a couple of months ago, its pleasant breeze hinting at the stifling heat that was to come in the summer. The two of them decided to take a detour when they reached the west canal, crossing a small bridge over it just before the turning to the Perfumed Spring, and carried on alongside the edge of the Cosia Bocca, its waters glittering in the moonlight. They found amusement watching drunken parties embarrass themselves by dancing along the bay and falling over in the street. 

“I think they have the right idea,” he chuckled, before gesturing to a packed tavern with lively music and a door framed with pink climbing roses. Already several wines in, Mia followed him inside and they pushed through the crowd towards a door in the back. It was so full of people that she did well not to lose hold of his hand as she followed, but it was clear to her that he had been here a fair few times before. 

They exited into a well-lit courtyard covered by a pergola covered in vines and flowers that were just beginning to emerge from their buds. Lanterns with coloured glass swung from the stone walls and columns, and a colourful string of bunting was strung from wall to wall. The sound of several instruments played in harmony as groups of people danced with their ales as if it was the last night of their lives. 

Before Mia knew it, Zevran was returning from the bar with their third round of drinks, each time bringing something new for her to try. 

“I... _really_ shouldn’t have had that wine earlier,” she said as the courtyard began to swirl around her. 

“Still not as drunk as you were the night we left Kinloch Hold,” he chuckled, shuffling his chair in as a buxom barmaid squeezed past him with a large platter of drinks for the table next to them. “I would be surprised if you even remember that.” 

“I do!” she protested, slamming her ale back on the table, splashing it all over his shirt. “It was a drinking contest. Oghren bet I would lose. I beat him fair and square.” 

Zevran cocked an eyebrow. “You and Alistair took your shoes off and jumped into Lake Calenhad.” 

“Yes, so?” 

“And then forgot how to swim,” he recalled. “Leliana and I had to jump in and rescue you.” 

“Ah. That sounds more like... like a victory celebration to me,” she slurred, standing to raise her tankard and twirl around in jest, before clumsily tripping over her own foot and falling back into a young man who was thankfully too drunk to be annoyed at her. Zevran apologised to the man and pulled her close, while all the same feeling his own drunkenness set in. 

It had been a long time since he felt he could fully let go, truly, without a care in the world. He felt as if an agonising weight had lifted and was pleasantly surprised to find himself in high spirits for once, so much so that he was willing to take the small risk of being recognised here, despite the fact the Crows were not known to frequent this establishment. Although vengeance had not brought him the relief he desired, he now took comfort in the feeling that he was making things better for the both of them. 

He felt as though he was finally taking back control of his life. There was nobody to tell him what to do, nobody to blackmail him, and nobody to force him to do the dirty work of others. When Mia caught him knelt in the privy one week previously with a knife at his wrist, she bandaged his wounds and put him to bed. It felt to him as if she was the only person in the world who cared if he were to live or to die. The words she had said that night stuck with him. That his right to live as a free man far outweighed the lives of those that sought to keep him prisoner. He knew Mia was right, but he hated how she had seen him like that. His mind scolded him over and over for being ready to leave her after concluding the problem was, in fact, himself. 

“I suppose I should catch up, yes?” he said, reaching for his pint and downing it in one. Mia swayed, laying sloppy drunken kisses on his neck. Zevran tugged at his sleeve to cover his injury, which had healed well, but made him self-conscious nevertheless. 

“A dance, _cariño_?” he said, gesturing towards the centre of the courtyard where dozens of couples were enjoying the upbeat tune from the minstrels’ stand. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mia took his hand and they spun amidst the crowd until they felt dizzy. _We are together, that is all that matters,_ he thought to himself. 

Yet the morning courier brought news that would only tear them apart. 


	4. Alone in Antiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia returns to Ferelden for the summer to reclaim Vigil's Keep, leaving Zevran to deal with the Crows, alone.

He woke to a knock and the creak of rusty iron hinges. 

“What now?” Zevran groaned, pulling the pillow over his ear. The morning was long gone, but then mornings were practically non-existent at the Perfumed Spring. Scorching summer rays danced on his skin as the intruder pushed open the shutters. “ _Brasca._ Did I leave the door unlocked again? Who is it?” he said, face still buried in his pillow. When they sat on the bed next to him, he flung his arm over into the empty space as if expecting someone to be in bed with him. The sheets were cold. Much like every morning so far that summer, he was disappointed to find that Mia was still not there. 

“If you’re not going to leave this room, you should at least start locking the door,” said Elena, putting a tray down next to him. The rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread filled the air. “You should eat something.” 

Elena’s pale blonde hair was freshly washed and wrapped atop her head in a neat braid, and she was wearing nothing but a dressing gown made of imported silk, and a dainty amulet on a fine silver chain. When Zevran pulled the pillow back from his face he thought she smelled strongly of perfume. 

“How long has it been?” he asked. The afternoon light was so blinding that he immediately put the pillow back over his face. “I’ve only been up here for a day.” 

“More like three,” she said, grabbing the pillow off him and throwing it across the room. “You need to eat something. And... have you been throwing knives at the wall again?” 

“Fine. I’ll get up,” Zevran said, getting up in a huff to pull a linen shirt over his head. He yanked one of the dragonbone knives from the wooden support beam opposite the bed and twirled it in his hand, leaving the other three exactly where they were. After gearing up and sheathing his blade, Zevran took the breakfast tray and followed Elena to the common room, making sure to lock his door this time. 

The entrance to the Perfumed Spring was free of patrons, so Zevran lay back on the comfiest bench he could find and propped his feet up on a stool. He stared at his boots, listening to the sounds of a scrawny child sweeping the floor nearby. Antivan leather boots. They were the same ones Mia had given him in Haven. Now that she was back in Ferelden he treasured them more than ever. 

“So, he _is_ alive,” teased Serena, one of the more experienced ladies of the Perfumed Spring. She was a very tall girl with attractive dimples, a deep bronze tan, and thick, dark hair that almost reached her hips. Zevran had been her acquaintance for almost as long as he had known Elena. He knew from first-hand experience that she was good at her job, but he found her tiresome as far as conversations went. Always teasing, trying to make him feel somehow lesser because of his past, even though she was by all accounts cut from the same cloth as he. 

“I’d leave him if I were you. He’s in a bad mood,” Elena warned, rushing between rooms as she combed the knots from her hair. 

“I heard they get like that when they retire,” said Serena. The woman pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards, resting her chin on her hands with a smirk spread across her lips. Zevran refused to look at her. He remembered why he had hidden away in his room. _Peace and bloody quiet,_ he thought. When he sipped his coffee he realised just how hungry he was. 

“Perhaps you ought to find something to do,” Serena said. 

“I’m working on it.” 

“You can’t just live here for nothing, you know. A deposit only goes so far, and you’ve been here for half a year. Why not just work here?” she said. He could not tell if she was making fun of him again. “There’s a regular here who just _loves_ a handsome elf... sometimes two.” 

“Absolutely not,” said Zevran, tearing into the chunk of bread. What he wanted was a window to kill his next victim. For weeks he had been watching from the rooftops, waiting, observing patterns. For the past few days, however, sleeping was the only thing that interested him. 

“I’m sure your mistress wouldn’t mind,” she said, twirling her hair. “The vanquisher of the Blight and the Antivan whore. That’s how the annals will remember you!” 

“Can I not drink my coffee in peace?” 

“I’m hardly surprised she went back to Ferelden if this is where she had to end up after everything. They say she could have become their queen, you know? A queen!” 

“She didn’t want to be a queen.” Zevran frowned at her. 

The panel covering the shutters folded open and the large iron bolts on the front door clicked open, one, two, three times. Elena came in to light the censers as one of the newer girls, whom Zevran did not know, came to fluff the gold-embroidered pillows scattered about the seating area. 

“I miss her,” said the new girl, placing a freshly plumped pillow behind Zevran. “She taught me how to braid my hair like this,” she said, turning a circle to show him the intricate Dalish-style braids. Zevran did not even know who the girl was, but he could tell Mia had left quite the impression on her. Mia used to braid her own hair like that every morning when he first met her. Until the nightmares came. After that it was a messy ponytail or nothing at all. 

“I liked having her around,” said Serena. “She always looked after the children while we were at work.” 

“And she revived the plants in the courtyard,” Elena added. 

“Well you might never see her again,” Zevran said coldly. The girls went quiet, realising they must have struck a nerve. “She is Ferelden’s Commander of the Grey. Her duties lie in Amaranthine now. And from her letter I can hardly believe the Blight has even ended. Regardless, she’ll be fighting them till the end of her days, until the Calling claims her. I may as well let the Crows come for me.” 

“I- I didn't mean to-,” Serena trailed off, feeling bad for teasing him earlier. The women of the Perfumed Spring were well aware of his recent mental distress. Since Rinna’s death he had simply not been the same. They almost missed the inappropriate, self-assured flirt they once knew. 

Thinking it best to avoid the risk of upsetting him further, Serena made for the dressing room to prepare for her shift. Before she got even five steps across the room, she froze before the open window and folded her arms defensively. 

“Serena?” said Elena. 

When the girl did not respond, the elven woman moved to her side to see the shadowed figure that Serena was looking at. 

“Is that...? Oh no,” said Elena, pacing backwards nervously. The small child that had been sweeping the floor ran for Madam Costanza’s office and four women gathered from the next room, whispering to themselves as if something bad was about to happen. 

The shadow disappeared from the window briefly, before making an appearance again, this time pushing the front door back with such force that the glass lantern beside it shattered on the floor. Zevran sat up straight. 

“You lied to me!” came the enraged, gruff voice of a young man who wore studded leather armour and an ironbark crossbow on his back. “Where... is... my... money...?” he said slowly, stepping closer to Serena with each word. The man was well kitted out, despite his scruffy hair and stubbly chin, yet wore no mark or distinguishing uniform. Zevran was quick to speculate that he was either a mercenary or a smuggler. With that in mind, he stood up slowly. 

“We told you... she doesn’t have it yet!” Elena pleaded. 

“Shut up, knife-ear,” the man spat. “I gave you whores two chances to give me what you owe, and I’m not giving you a third. Where is it?” he said, returning his piercing silver gaze to Serena. 

“I’ve nearly got it- I promise... come back tomorrow and-” 

He struck her so hard across the cheek she doubled over onto the tables behind her. At that, Zevran launched himself towards the man and threw a fist at his face. It hit, but the man looked back as if it was nothing and threw Zevran to the floor, kicking him in the stomach for good measure. As the man turned back to Serena, Zevran rolled about the floor clutching his stomach, coughing and cursing for having misjudged the man’s strength. 

Before the situation could escalate any further, the clamour was interrupted by two commanding claps from Madam Costanza, who marched in with two burly henchmen that usually only made an appearance on busy nights. After a brief but short scuffle, the man was thrown back out onto the dusty street, three bolts clicking firmly after him. Still coughing, Zevran stared at the two black, leather boots that now stood an inch from his face - a gold, beaded chain dangling decoratively from each. Zevran did not have to look up to know Madam Costanza was staring down at him in judgement. 

“Look at you,” she said. “Can’t even deal with a minor nuisance. What use are you to me?” 

Zevran sighed, rolling onto his back to look up at her wrinkled face and enormous gold earrings that stretched her earlobes with their weight. He wondered if Costanza thought wearing more jewellery would distract from her age. 

“I paid you fifty andris in Wintermarch. And placed that forged ledger in your dealer’s office. Did you know that man has three fire fountains in his own house? Three!” 

“Yes,” she said in her low, hoarse voice. “And it has been six months since then. I am risking having all of House Arainai turn up at my doorstep. And for what? Tell me, how do they treat those who knowingly harbour a man they wish to kill?” 

“I mean, you could probably escape with your life. Perhaps an hour or two in the iron chair, or a day on the rack,” he sighed wistfully. “I never did like that thing.” 

“Zevran,” she hissed, “Does it look like I am in the mood for childish jokes?” 

“No. How about I tell you some adult ones?” 

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if she had the strength to strangle him to death. Why she put up with this man was one of the greater mysteries of her life. 

“Kill that wretched smuggler who came in earlier and I’ll give you another month.” And with that, Costanza turned on her heel and left. 

By that evening the sky had clouded over, and Zevran was stood in the rain overlooking the nearest smugglers’ hideout he knew of. The sea sloshed loudly below the ledge he stood on at the backside of an abandoned smithy, and raucous laughter echoed from the small warehouse door. The alley he was watching was a disorganised mess of frayed rigging and unmarked crates, between which was a popular place for the men to piss. If it was not for the rain, waiting in the sweltering heat would have been unbearable for him. The skin on Zevran’s face was already deeply bronzed from the onset of summer. He closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall as he leant casually against the dusty stone wall, letting the rain drench his face as he listened for the next man to make a trip to the alley. He wondered if it was raining in Amaranthine, if Mia was thinking of him too. He wondered if she was even still alive. When her letter arrived two days previously, her words were determined but he could tell she was tired. Tired of the darkspawn. _Like houseguests who overstay their welcome,_ he said in his letter back. 

By the time Zevran’s target went to relieve himself the sun was already setting on the horizon, staining the clouds with hues of orange and pink. If it were not for the rain, Zevran would have likely fallen asleep, for it had been at least three hours since his arrival at the quayside. The smuggler in question strode through the puddles below and turned against the wall furthest from Zevran, unbuttoning his trousers. Waiting a moment to verify it was the man he was looking for, Zevran then edged himself around the corner to find a dry part of the street to drop down to. The former Crow dropped onto the pavement without a sound. His fighting skills may have become rusty, as he had discovered earlier, but he was pleased to find that his stealth remained unmatched. Mia always hated it when he snuck up on her. 

He counted his footsteps. _One, two, three._

Mia never did get the hang of stealth, despite Zevran's regular training sessions. In his experience, children were faster learners. That was why the Crows recruited people young. 

_Four, five, six._

He remembered how he would often sneak up on her for fun. When she forbade him from doing it again, Zevran decided that entering a room unannounced did not count as sneaking. She stopped talking to him for a whole day after that, much to Alistair's amusement. 

_Seven, eight, nine._

Laughter erupted from within the warehouse again. _They won’t miss him,_ Zevran thought. He could not recall how many sons and daughters he had killed in his time, but in his experience men like this did not have anyone to mourn for them. Zevran used to think nobody would mourn for him. Until he met Mia, that was. 

_Ten._

In one smooth motion, Zevran placed one hand over the smuggler’s mouth and slashed his neck from behind. Zevran stared down at the man who lay in his own urine, gurgling on his own blood. For a split second the smuggler’s eyes widened in recognition of Zevran, who stood watching over him until his soul departed for the Fade. _One month’s rent. My rates truly have gone down-market,_ he thought. 

Abandoning the corpse as though he had just swatted a fly, Zevran returned to the small space between the abandoned smithy and the quayside and bit into an apple he found in his pocket. The small pathway led to a street that was bustling with merchants and fishermen and labourers, all shuffling past one another with cargo, fishing nets or building supplies. The rain was barely noticeable now, but Zevran kept his hood up as usual. The longer he spent back in Antiva City, the more he regretted his facial tattoo. The recognition used to work wonders on his ego, but nowadays it was simply a nuisance. 

The air was uncomfortably humid, making the shirt beneath Zevran’s overcoat stick to his skin. As he neared the opening to the street, watching the people pass by, he was suddenly hit with a deep sense of unease. 

He stopped. 

For a second he thought his mind was having a moment again, that he ought to lie down. But his suspicions were correct. The vague silhouette behind the stream of passers-by was easy to miss, but it was there, and it was indeed staring back at him. Zevran tossed his apple into the sea and started off towards the mysterious figure. As he wove his way through the crowds, he made sure to keep his eyes fixed on the silhouette, which immediately started retreating down a muddy alleyway. Zevran leapt over a cargo cart and quickened his pace to try and catch them, but they turned into a building that looked like it was one push away from collapsing on itself. 

Zevran did not like that at all. He was beginning to get the overwhelming sense that this was a setup for an ambush, though there was a small chance his stalker had not intended for him to notice them. Instead of following his gut and heading back to the Perfumed Spring for an early night, he continued down the muddy street and entered the decrepit building. A wonky, faded sign swung from a rusty nail above the open doorframe – an old butchery. 

When he entered there was not much to see but an old table and a dozen butcher hooks that swung into each other as if recently disturbed. It was difficult for him to see much, though what was left of the sunset lit up spots on the floor though the holes in the roof. 

Zevran stood there in the darkness, listening, waiting. There was nothing. Although satisfied it was not an ambush, he was disturbed at how well his stalker was at hiding, as he could see no reasonable way to exit the building and very little to hide behind. In his experience, most people began to panic when cornered, making foolish mistakes and sometimes running back the way they came. 

“I concede, you win,” he said, turning around slowly with his arms stretched out wide, scanning the shadows as he invited the mysterious follower to face him. Zevran pulled his hood back so the unknown figure could see his face. “Is this who you were looking for?” he said, louder this time. 

Almost as soon as Zevran uncovered his identity, the person launched at him from behind and hooked a sharp dagger under the tip of his chin, forcing his head back.

“I got your note,” came a low, sly voice. 

“Ah,” Zevran replied. He should have known. “When I asked to meet... I was thinking more like a nice tavern, maybe a bottle of wine, a round of Wicked Grace by the fire...” 

“Do not mock me,” said Grandmaster Runn. “As much as I have you to thank for my promotion, House Arainai is quite tired of your games.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Zevran lied, grinning to himself in the darkness. 

“You know very well what you did,” Runn hissed, pressing the blade deeper so it drew a little blood. “No, we cannot prove it was you. But we know you were in Antiva City at the time. Other than that, I think you are forgetting you messed up one of the most important contracts our House had gotten in _years_ . Nobody even knows why you bid on it. Maybe Taliesen was right. Maybe you _are_ soft in the head. Though he never came back to Antiva. Convenient, that.” 

“Yes, that was a rather unfortunate turn of events. If you don’t mind, I’ll be getting on with my contract now.” 

“She's in Ferelden, idiot. Besides, everyone from Orlais to Par Vollen knows you are practically husband and wife now. Eoman always did say you were a liability. Almost thought you weren’t going to kill Rinna. And what would have happened then? With the Rosso Noche still scheming, House Arainai would not be where it is today.” 

Zevran hated nothing more than being reminded of that day. “Have you ever asked yourself why Eoman made _me_ do it? Why he did not simply do it himself?” 

Runn was silent. 

“He is- _was_... a cruel, selfish little man,” said Zevran, “Nobody will miss him.” 

“He made you do it because you loved her. Taliesen too. Believe it or not, he wanted you to be successful. You had so much potential and yet your... _affections_... were becoming an obstacle to our progress. You three were an embarrassment to House Arainai.” 

“Yet my ‘affections’ never compromised my contracts. We were very effective at what we did for those eight years. The rest of you were simply jealous.” 

Runn’s leather armour creaked against Zevran’s back, and there was now nothing to light the room. 

“Well,” Runn laughed, “You disproved that when you jumped into bed with the Warden, didn’t you?” 

The knife was becoming quite painful now; Zevran could feel a small amount of blood rolling down his neck. Caught like a mouse in the pitch-black darkness, he desperately tried to think of a way to turn the situation around. He could not think of anything. 

“Well, whatever you have in store for me, let’s get to it. It’s been a long while since I’ve been to Velabanchel. Just no stretching please.” 

“No,” said Runn. “Now, you die.” 


	5. Runn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran fights for his life after being ambushed by Grandmaster Runn. An unexpected letter arrives.

The evening breeze whistled through the abandoned building as the knifepoint pressed deeper into Zevran’s chin. He stood silently in the dark, staring up at the sky through the splintered roof and listening to the busy quayside a few streets away. There was no chance of anyone turning into this derelict street. He knew that even if he cried for help, which would likely get him killed instantly, that there would be nobody to save him. There was enough violence and murder in this part of the city, so the locals knew better than to get involved in matters that did not concern them. 

If it was not for the promise he had made Mia, he would have considered accepting defeat. The thought of endless, dreamless sleep was certainly an appealing concept to him, though his mind flicked through thoughts of Mia returning to Antiva only to find him dead. He knew she would not cope well with that at all. Despite her tireless efforts to maintain a tough exterior, Zevran knew that a part of her soul shattered on the day Tamlen died. He refused to subject her to that again. 

Before Runn could push the dagger any further, Zevran jolted to the left with all his strength. And in a quick, calculated sequence, Zevran thumped his fist back into Runn’s groin and then thrust his elbow straight up into Runn’s chin, freeing himself from the backwards hold. 

Knowing time was of the essence, Zevran drew his dagger and quickly backed up towards the entrance of the butchery. 

“Come now, Runn. It would be better just to talk this out, no?” said Zevran. The butcher hooks smacked together violently as Grandmaster Runn came marching towards him. “I warn you if you keep coming at me this will not end well.” 

“You were going to kill me anyway, you son of a whore!” Runn spat, sending a knife hurtling in Zevran’s direction. Zevran only narrowly dodged the knife, which he was unable to make out in the dark, but heard slam against the wall behind him. The last shafts of daylight moved over Runn’s dark hair, which was tied in a low ponytail, save a few messy strands that framed his dark, murderous eyes. Runn’s next knife flashed in the light from the broken roof as he lunged to grab Zevran’s free arm. Before Zevran could counter, Runn quickly stabbed forward, missing Zevran’s chest and instead plunging the knife into his armpit. Zevran cried out as the Crow twisted the knife and yanked it free. 

“You did this to yourself,” said Runn, backing Zevran into the corner as he prepared to attack again. “All this trouble because you’re upset about Rinna?” 

“No,” Zevran said, clutching his wound. “I simply want to be free. Free of all of this. Can you not say the same for yourself?” 

Runn did not reply. As he continued to advance, Zevran felt his fingers brush against the wall behind him. Realising he was cornered, he darted in the other direction, but he was too slow and too late. The next dagger went into his back through his thick leather cuirass, the impact sending him tripping over his own feet. Zevran tumbled and cursed and yelled out in agony, before stumbling face first onto the dusty floorboards. The dragonbone knife he was holding clattered to the floor as he reached to compress his first wound again, which was beginning to feel like it had been set on fire. 

Zevran could hear Runn’s footsteps creak around the building for a short time until he returned with a lit torch, which he slotted into an iron bracket in a nearby wooden column. 

Feeling dizzy from his injuries but not wanting to give in just yet, Zevran slowly rolled onto his back. 

The Grandmaster stood over him, brandishing a knife again and watching his victim with a gaze devoid of any sympathy. Zevran tried to get up. His armpit and back were now soaked in warm blood and his hands were sticky from having tried to staunch it. With the initial shock of the stabbing now over, his body was prepared to see him through until the real pain set in. There was blood all over the floor beneath him - he tried not to think about it and began to pull himself up. 

“Don’t bother,” said Runn, kicking him back down and readying his blade one final time. 

Zevran found his own dagger on the floorboards and thrust it hard into the back of the Grandmaster’s knee. Thrown off-balance, Runn slashed wildly down at Zevran but merely scratched the leather of his cuirass. Then using the planted dagger to pull himself up as if it were an ice pick, Zevran reached for Runn’s arm and pulled him to the ground next to him. When Runn pulled out yet another knife, Zevran immediately rolled on top of him to wrestle it away. The two of them cursed, struggled, and beat each other until they were covered in blood, sweat, and dust. When Zevran finally managed to seize the knife, he fought against the Grandmaster’s arms until he had them pinned back with his knees. 

Unwilling to risk a single moment of hesitation, Zevran stabbed him hard in the chest. 

Runn wheezed and spat blood in his face. “They will torture you... in ways... you can’t even imagine...,” he said, each breath growing shorter than the last. 

“So they keep telling me...” said Zevran. 

“Rinna never... even loved you. She was just... using you for her cause,” Runn panted. 

Zevran thrust his fist into Runn’s face, feeling tired of having to hear her name. Every single time he had faced a Crow since his unlawful departure, they just _had_ to mention her. The members of House Arainai were incredibly deceptive; they could read everyone like a book. If one of their own was to show even the tiniest hint of weakness, it would be used to punish them until they were left mentally broken or a callous shell of their former selves. It was how they weeded out the weak. 

For years Zevran had thought himself free of empathy. Killing did not faze him and torturing others came easily to him. It was only after Rinna passed that he realised what House Arainai had done to him. His self-identity was thrown into chaos. He was not a psychopath - the Crows had merely stripped his personality down to something akin to psychopathy in order to abuse it. And now the entire guild knew they could use Rinna to force him into an ultimatum: if they could not bend him to their will, they would drive him to his death, whether by their hand or by his. Zevran knew Runn would not have mentioned Rinna had the order not asked it of him. It was as if they had all been given a script. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Zevran, feeling a sudden rage well up inside him. 

“She used you... ask the Rosso Noche.” 

“No,” said Zevran, yanking the knife out of Runn’s chest and thrusting it back into him again. “I am so tired of being told I am wrong about everything.” Zevran stabbed him again, and again. “I am tired of feeling like I always _owe_ something.” Even after he was certain Runn was dead, Zevran kept stabbing, over and over, until he was breathless and lightheaded from blood loss. “I am so tired of this. I am _so tired.”_

He was not sure how his legs carried him out of the building and towards the quayside, but they did. Conscious enough to be aware of the sorry state he was in, he pulled up his hood and sheathed his weapons, clutching his armpit and struggling for air. As he staggered through the evening crowds his vision began to blur and voices merged into one loud, incomprehensible mess. With his senses failing, all that he could focus on was the pain, which was growing more unbearable with each step. He was barely able to comprehend where he was going – all he knew was that he must keep moving forward, one foot after the other, until he reached home. Although he knew there was nowhere he could really call home. There was no chance of hoping to be taken to a normal medic either, knowing the Crows had eyes almost everywhere. 

_I am so tired,_ he repeated, over and over, until the world span around him and his head crashed against the cobbled street below. 

When his senses returned it felt as though he had been asleep for years. He was not quite sure if he was even alive. 

“Should we write to Mia?” came a familiar voice. 

“No, not yet,” came another. 

“Can you check his pulse?” 

“I can’t- I need some air...” 

The world was still spinning when he opened his eyes. When he tried to adjust his position, pain surged throughout his body. He threw up what he could onto the bedsheets. Moving was not a good idea right now. 

“Maker help us... someone fetch the medic!” shouted Madam Costanza. How he had returned to his room in the Perfumed Spring was beyond him. There were several people in the room: Elena, Costanza, Serena, among many others. Even the cook’s son, Neri, was peeping round the door, though he was soon ushered away for he was no older than seven. That was how Zevran knew he must have been in a bad way. 

Elena returned with fresh bedsheets and a medic who had come from a chantry infirmary not far from the Perfumed Spring. The man looked as though he was severely lacking sleep – he had in fact been waiting on Zevran for two nights now, napping whenever he could but clearly concerned by Zevran’s condition. 

The medic put a pan on Zevran’s lap for him to throw up into while he examined his eyes. 

“Can you hear me?” he said, putting some more pillows behind him so that he could sit up properly. 

“I can,” Zevran croaked, barely able to get out his words. His mouth felt dry and his body felt as though it had been trampled by a thousand horses. Costanza sat in the corner and sighed into her hands while Elena stood at the end of the bed, pleading the Maker to show mercy on him. 

“Do you know where you are?” the man asked calmly. The medic was more concerned about Zevran’s head than his wounds, which had been stitched, treated, and neatly bandaged. 

“My head...” Zevran groaned, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He felt so weak that he did not really feel part of the world anymore. Everything felt like a dream to him. 

“No, no, no,” the medic said, patting Zevran’s cheek and holding his head, which was beginning to hang to one side. “You must stay awake. Hello?” 

Despite the medic’s request, Zevran was unable to comply.   


“How did I get here?” he slurred when he woke several hours later. The medic was fast asleep in a chair, but no-one had the heart to wake him. 

“Only the Maker knows the answer to that,” said Costanza, who stared at him from across the room. Zevran had no concept of what time or day it was – all he knew was that it was light outside. “I was sat in my office when I heard shouting from a few houses down. When I walked down the street to see what it was, there you were, face down in the middle of the crowd. I have to say, I thought you were dead, but we carried you inside anyway.” 

“I thought I was dead too,” he said, recalling what he could of the incident. 

Costanza clicked her tongue. “Well you stopped breathing for a while, so I suppose you did die.” 

“But I _did_ earn my rent,” he said with a sad smile. 

Costanza rolled her eyes. “Maybe. But at the cost of quite a bit of custom. These two were barely able to work with you up here like this,” she said, gesturing towards Elena and Serena. The girls did not look in any state to work. Both were still in their nightgowns, with unbrushed hair and dark circles under their eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” Serena blurted from her spot on the floor. She cradled her knees anxiously. “It’s all my fault! I wish I’d never talked to those stupid men. I’m so sorry Zev. I really am.” 

“I’m sorry too,” said Elena, sitting glumly on the end of the bed. “I am also to blame.” 

“What are you talking about?” he said, scratching the bandage on his head and trying to think what she was talking about. Then he remembered the smuggler he had been sent to kill. “Ah, I see,” he said, laughing to himself. Do you really doubt me that much?” 

“Wha-” Serena looked up. “I mean... he did punch you to the ground.” 

“I'd just woken up!” he protested. “I wasn’t expecting a fight over breakfast. That _nagale_ is dead, you will be pleased to hear. No witnesses.” 

“Then... who?” Serena asked. 

“Who do you think?" Zevran winced as he pushed himself upright. "Now that Eoman is dead the Crows are almost certain I'm in Antiva. I knew one of them would find me eventually. Though they were sorry they did.” 

“I thought as much,” said Costanza, shaking her head. “Were they any witnesses for that one?” 

“No. But there will be an informant if you’re not careful." Zevran nodded towards the sleeping medic. The middle-aged man snored softly, his round belly rising and falling with each long breath. 

“I trust him,” said Costanza. That was enough to reassure Zevran; he knew she did not trust people easily. The Madam was notoriously difficult to make friends with, despite boasting a large network of allies. “The question is whether I can trust _you,_ ” she said.

Zevran’s eyes met with hers. He did not like what she was implying but was not at all surprised. Coming to the Perfumed Spring had been a gamble from the very start. Deep down he knew it was not a good idea to stay here much longer, but given his condition there was not much else he could do. 

“You want me gone,” he said. 

“Madam... please. Let him at least recover. He can barely move!” said Elena. 

“No, Elena... the Madam is right,” he said, even though he really was too weak to move. “It is wrong of me to endanger you all like this. When I am able to stand... I will go.” 

Costanza twirled one of her large gold earrings between her fingers. 

“It’s not that I think you'll betray me. I know you are better than that,” said Costanza. “It’s what you want to achieve that concerns me. If you wanted to simply hide from the Crows while earning your keep, I'd be happy to have you here until you found somewhere better. But you want to bring down the entire order. Do you know how serious that is? The Crows _run_ this country.” 

“What can I say, I’m ambitious,” he smiled. Despite his confidence, he knew she was right. It was a problem that had been circling his mind for the past half a year. The Crows were a threat to his life, so naturally he wanted to defend himself, however his objectives were becoming far more ambitious than that. He could not deny that the notebook stashed in the drawers next to Costanza was filled with manic scribbles about how he wanted to overthrow the guild or force them under his control. In there were lists of people he wanted to kill, people he wanted to intimidate, and people he wanted to play against one another. Ever since he left Ferelden, he had been carefully calculating how he could exert control over the Talons so that they either feared or depended on him. It was no longer simply a case of self-defence. It was a carefully planned scheme that would take years to pull off, but if it was to succeed, would cause complete political chaos. 

Considering the way she talked he wondered if the Madam had been looking through his things. It was almost like he was back with House Arainai once again. They would always check through his things to regulate forbidden items or anything they deemed dangerous to the order. 

Zevran vowed to buy a lockbox as soon as he was able to walk again. 

“I admire your courage, Zevran. However, you are a fool if you think they will not find you soon. The Crows are all over the city, checking every single place they suspect you have friends". 

Zevran sighed. There were so many people he had been unable to see since his return to Antiva City. So many old friends and trusted acquaintances that would be implicated if he were to pay a visit. The reason he had originally sought refuge at the Perfumed Spring is that his former friends amongst the Crows were unaware that he ever knew the people there. None that were still alive, anyway. 

For the next few days Zevran slept in that attic, sometimes sitting up to read or to write in his notebook, which Elena had passed to him for safe keeping under his pillow. The medic eventually returned to the infirmary, having concluded that Zevran would likely recover from his wounds given sufficient rest, although said that he would have to be checked on frequently. Sometimes Costanza would come into his room before work, asking him strange and specific questions about his time in Ferelden and about his contacts in the Crows. The woman was addicted to information. Some thought she made more money through blackmail than through the brothel itself. 

If he was not being bothered by the Madam, he was being tended to by Elena, who took it upon herself to see that he got better. Every morning she would come to bring him food and to apply ointment to his stitches. In the evening, she would check on him after each customer she serviced. It was clear to Zevran that she cared for him a lot, in the most platonic and pure of ways. There was a lot she had in common with him, whether he saw it or not, and over those few days they talked more than they had in all their years of knowing one another. 

On the fourth day, Zevran found the strength to walk, as painful as it was. He was relieved to no longer have to be helped to the privy or to the balcony for some fresh air. When Elena entered that morning, she found Zevran had pulled a chair onto the balcony and was watching boats sail across the horizon. 

“Breakfast,” she said, handing him a tray with his usual serving of bread and coffee. Although this time, there was also a letter. Elena placed her hands on the railing and inhaled the salty air, trying to pretend she was simply happy to be there and not at all curious to see who the letter was from. Despite never letting Elena read the letters from Mia, Zevran knew that Elena liked to hear how she was faring. 

“I do not recognise the handwriting,” Zevran said as his fingers traced over the handwritten address. Using his breadknife to break the red wax seal, he carefully unfolded the paper, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. 

“Did you tell anyone else you were here?” Elena asked. When Zevran did not answer she spun around to sneak a look. “Zev? Who is it from?” 

The paper fell from Zevran’s hands back onto the tray. He stared back at the horizon, his face suddenly lacking any enthusiasm for his own existence. 

When Elena opened the paper there were only a few lines in the centre of the page. 

_They know you are here._

_You can thank me later._

_Signed, your old friend,_

_-G_


	6. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia returns to Antiva City to look for Zevran. A tense reunion turns into something more heated.

The ship ground to a halt on the shimmering waters of Rialto Bay, the white sails bright under the cold winter sun. Mia was pleased to find Antiva City looked as beautiful as she had remembered it, and for once it was not raining. After the chaos at Vigil’s Keep it felt like coming home, although she thought that as the new Arlessa of Amaranthine she should perhaps not have been so quick to leave the country. At any rate, the icy battlements and snow-covered baileys of Vigil’s Keep were far behind her now, and the people of Amaranthine were well set up to survive the winter. For now, any political correspondences were to be sent to King Alistair, whom she updated with her location as regularly as she could so that any important messages could be forwarded. Countless lives had been saved under Mia’s command, so she felt a vacation was well deserved. 

The air was gentler here than in Ferelden. The lingering warmth of the Antivan coast greeted her as the ship pulled into the bay, its humid, saline breath fighting against the Ferelden chill that blew across the Amaranthine Ocean. 

It would have felt like home to her, if it were not for the fact half of the city likely wanted her dead. The pleasant feeling that accompanied her arrival soon sank in her stomach. She needed to find Zevran. There had not been a letter from him in months, and no matter how many times she asked the couriers at the Vigil, they only shook their heads. At first, she put it down to him being busy, knowing all the plans he had scrawled in that notebook of his, but as autumn flew by and winter approached, she began to suspect something was off. Especially considering the rumours. 

Keeping her vallaslin concealed beneath her cowl, Mia made her way down the gangplank and into the afternoon rush. It was the usual bustle of traders and fishermen, all speaking a language she could barely understand. She pushed through the crowds until she found her way to the Perfumed Spring, its red glass lantern still swinging at the entrance. 

The moment she entered the lounge she was greeted with a dozen-wide eyed stares. A serving girl bolted towards Madam Costanza’s office, sending her in Mia’s direction. 

“This way, quickly,” said Costanza, her voice low and raspy as usual. The Madam gripped Mia’s arm so tightly that Mia did not even think to protest, almost tripping over a chair as the Madam pulled her behind the curtains that concealed her office. 

“Where's Zevran?” Mia asked in a voice that was once commanding enough to rally troops before battle. 

“Sit down,” Costanza said. 

Mia sat. 

She hated nothing more than being told what to do, though sensing something was not quite right, she bit her tongue and watched as Costanza went to pour herself a glass of brandy. 

“If you have come here for Zevran, he is not here,” Costanza said bluntly. “And I do not want him back here either.” 

“Why?” 

“Do you want the long story or the short story?” 

“ _Fenedhis_ _lasa_ , just tell me!" Mia cursed. 

“Well, the stupid _nagale_ got himself stabbed in an ambush by one of the Crows. We nearly had him die here – Maker knows how we would have explained that – and then he finds out they knew he was here.” 

Costanza shook her head, downing the brandy in one before slamming the glass down on her desk. When the Madam looked back up Mia was at a loss for words, simply frowning into space and lost in thoughts she did not wish to share. 

“Do you know what it’s like to have your entire business shaken down by a group of assassins? They searched every room of our house, every damn corner. The girls were terrified. Even after I burned the rest of his things, I thought there might have been something I missed. Something that would get me hauled off to Velabanchel. I was lucky to escape with just a black eye.” 

“They hurt you?” Mia was unable to process what she was hearing.

“Of course they hurt me!” Costanza spat. “They found out I was giving safe harbour to a man who betrayed them. Did I mention he wants to overthrow the order? Bring Antiva into political chaos? And under my roof!” 

“Mythal have mercy...” Mia whispered. The news of his scheming was by no means a surprise to her, but she was certainly unaware it had progressed this far or landed him in this much danger. “I can only offer my apologies on his behalf. For what it’s worth.” 

Costanza stared at her with cold eyes; the words meant nothing to her. 

“I do not want to see you nor that good-for-nothing wretch ever again.” 

“But-” 

“Not ever,” Costanza hissed. The words hurt Mia more than she thought possible. She had thought of this place often during her months in the Vigil. She spent most of her trip across the Amaranthine excited to see her new friends again, only to find out she was barred from the one place that felt like home. When she thought of Zevran now, she felt only rage. 

Without a word, Costanza slipped her a small, crumpled note and shooed her away with a dismissive hand. The paper told Mia where she needed to find him, the directions albeit vague. 

Elena and the other girls watched Mia leave with regretful eyes. They knew there was nothing more to be said and that they would be all the better for not dwelling on it. Mia raised a hand to say goodbye, then turned and slipped out onto the streets once again. And that was that. 

_This is bad. Really bad,_ Mia thought, walking as briskly as her little legs would carry her. If the Crows knew she was returning to Antiva, which she had no doubt they would, then they would be relying on her to lead them back to Zevran. She pulled at her cowl and kept her head down as best she could. 

The instructions on the note led her through the steep streets of the city until she could see the vast lands that bordered it. She could see dry plains and mountains and small towns in the distance, all of which depended on the coast for survival. 

By sunset she was in a cart that pulled up into a small town not far from Antiva City. In fact, it felt so close to the city that it was hard for her to believe that she had even left. The carriage ground to a halt beside an olive tree and Mia fumbled in her purse for enough coin to pay the driver. He gave the strange, hooded elf a quick nod before carrying on his way. 

The air grew colder after that, and far more quiet. 

West of the village were endless hills and vineyards, dormant for the winter, each plot marked by small buildings with windows that glowed in the distance. In the east lay a breathtaking view of Antiva City and Rialto Bay, the sunset casting striking pink hues over the water. 

The quiet, dusty road led her to a small detached house that sat under the shadow of a pine tree. There were a few other houses nearby, but the buildings here had a lot more land to work with than in the city. When she knocked on the door there was, as she expected, no answer. 

She knocked a second time, and then a third. The wind whistled around her. As her fist rose a fourth time to knock as hard as she possibly could, the door swung open to reveal her beloved fiancé. 

“Mia...,” he said, his face unable to contain his surprise. The knife he had been holding clattered onto the stone floor. 

“You. Stupid. _Idiot_!” she said, pushing him back with each word. 

“Mia listen... I-” 

“No!” she cried. “I don’t want to hear it!” Her voice was beginning to crack with emotion. She was not sure whether it was the news of his near-death experience, the severity of his situation, or the culmination of all the months spent at Vigil’s Keep that made her explode with such rage. She did not understand it, but it poured out of her uncontrollably, until she was sobbing angry tears into his chest, his arms reluctantly wrapped around her. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered. There was nothing he could have said at that moment to make her feel better. Zevran knew that she hated it when he saw her cry, so he tried not to mention it, instead watching the wax drip down the candles on his desk. He gently pulled back her hood and planted an apologetic kiss on the top of her head. 

She pulled away immediately, slamming the front door shut and taking in what she assumed would be her new home. Zevran stood there in silence, unsure how to console her in such a state. Over their time together he had learned it was best to be patient. 

Mia’s eyes scanned the room. There was not much to report – a wooden desk in one corner, a small table and chairs, and a small double bed, all crammed into one candlelit room that smelled of leather and spice. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. His amber eyes glinted in the candlelight. When he looked at her his heart felt heavy. She was the one thing that meant the world to him. The woman he would tear Antiva to the ground for. His sole reason for being. And he had almost thrown it all away through his carelessness. 

Mia did not answer him, despite not having eaten since breakfast. The tears were gone now and her stern expression told him never to mention them again. 

“Why didn’t you write?” she asked, starting towards him. Sensing her anger, Zevran stepped backwards slowly, arms outstretched as if to calm her. 

“I did!” he said. “Well, I tried to. It is somewhat difficult when you've been forced into hiding.” 

“Oghren told me I’d be better off staying in Ferelden.” 

“Oghren was there?” 

“He was.” 

“Ahh, I miss my foul-smelling dwarven friend,” he laughed, reminiscing of his days in Ferelden. 

“I thought of you every day,” Mia hissed. “You didn't write.” 

Zevran sighed. “You seem to underestimate my situation. You want me to avoid alerting the Crows, yes?” 

“Well you did a fine job of that, clearly.” Mia's slow steps had pushed him into the corner, until he was stopped by the bedframe against his calves. 

“Do you not think I thought of you also? Every night I prayed you would come back to me. That you would find me here. I wanted-” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Mia pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, one hand wrapped around his neck. Her grip was not as tight as Zevran knew it could have been. It would have been easy enough for him to throw her off, but he let her have her way with him. He knew that he deserved it. 

“You are to tell me next time you go causing trouble,” she said, her breath warm on his ear. There was no anger in her voice anymore, despite her words. It was quite clear to Zevran that she had missed him, and in more ways than one. “You've killed some important people this year. I think it’s best we keep a low profile now, don’t you?” 

“Oh? Well about that...” he said. A wry grin spread across his face. 

“ _Dirthara_ _-ma,_ Zev. What else have you done?” Mia’s fingertips dug into his jaw.

“Nothing. Well... maybe one other murder... or two. I forgot about him. Nasty fellow. It is nothing to worry about, _amore_.” 

“Zevran!” Mia cursed, holding him back by his long blonde hair. His neck smelled of fragrant oils and spices, and his breath was slow and steady, not at all fazed by her aggression. Mia so badly wanted him to feel afraid, to show remorse for his careless actions, yet it soon became clear to her that he was enjoying the punishment. 

“I know. I am terrible and it makes me sad,” he said with feigned innocence. “You will have to punish me.” 

Mia stared at him and contemplated wringing his neck there and then. Although she knew if she tried that he would almost certainly win the fight. She willed herself to stay angry at him, to not smile at his crude suggestion, but she had never been able to resist that look. And Zevran knew it. 

Before she could convince herself not to, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. She knew all too well from past experience that there was no going back now. Once the kissing started, little could stop them.

“I hate you so much,” Mia breathed in between feverish kisses. “I want you inside me.” 

“As you wish,” he laughed, putting his arms back obediently. Zevran watched as she climbed down his body to unfasten his trousers, where she was pleased to find him already hard.

The pine trees rustled in the wind outside the window, their shadowed branches obscuring a deep mauve sky. The street outside was eerily quiet, no drunken revellers or clattering of carts and horses, only whispers in the wind and the flickering of Zevran’s candles. 

He groaned as she sucked him, her tongue working as skilfully as it could, as if to make him sorry for everything he ever did. To remind him how much he needed her, even though he already knew it. Before long she could feel him throbbing and convulsing inside her mouth, enjoying it so much that he could not help but guide her head with his hand. Mia smacked it away and climbed back on top of him. 

“I think you better make me a promise,” she said with a grin.

“Don’t stop, please,” he begged. At that, Mia struck him across the cheek - not too hard, but no softer than he liked. It was an unconventional form of intimacy, though it was something Mia discovered he rather liked during the Blight. When he turned his face back to her he bit his lip and flashed her a playful smile. 

“I said _promise me,_ ” she hissed. “No more murders without my approval.”

The demand was stern as part of her act, yet she was serious about the request.

“I suppose it would be rude to refuse, no? You have me at your mercy.”

Mia watched his chest rise and fall. His breaths were faster now and his gaze was intense in the candlelight. Satisfied that he was indeed at her mercy, Mia unbuttoned her clothes as quickly as she could and tossed her weapons aside. She let Zevran help unfasten her belts and undergarments, until she was sat atop his face, moaning softly into the cool, evening air. She had missed this. Nobody in the world was able to pleasure her like he could, his tongue remembering its way around her, knowing just when to stop and when to be gentle.

Before she lost control, she climbed off his face and tasted herself on his lips, pulling the linen shirt up over his head. That was when she saw it. The nasty scar coming from his armpit and reaching over onto his chest. Zevran saw her wince at the sight and thought it best not to mention the one on his back. 

“You will have to be gentle with me,” he said. 

“I'll try.” 

“...as much as your authority drives me mad with desire...” 

“So it would seem.” 

“... and as much I've grown fond of a little pain...” he trailed off, pulling himself upright. 

Before he could take control, Mia pushed him back down by his good shoulder and fastened his wrists to the bed frame with one of her belts. 

“I said I'd be gentle, yes. I didn't say I'd be kind,” she teased, easing him inside of her. He groaned in response, submitting to her impulses and letting her use him however she liked.

When she was out of breath and shaking from her second climax, she pulled off just in time to deprive him of any satisfaction for himself.

“You are so very cruel, my dear,” he said. His breaths were ragged and desperate, and she could see that he was on the very edge. Mia realised that she was in fact, cruel. 

“That I am,” she said. “Now tell me where that notebook of yours is.” 

Zevran fought his desperate thoughts for a moment and considered giving her the location of a different one. There were a few empty ones lying around his room, and some that were filled entirely with poetry or mundane lists. But his body soon convinced him otherwise, forcing him to reveal where the infamous notebook was hiding. He hoped she would not be too alarmed when she read it. 

Once satisfied he was telling the truth, Mia slid back onto him and permitted his relief. This was the longest Zevran had gone without sexual intimacy since his mid-teens, and he was by no means used to the rules of monogamy just yet.

“Thank you, kind mistress,” he jested, regaining his composure. 

“You can call me Arlessa now. The Arlessa of Amaranthine,” she said with a wink. As impressive as the title was, she was not at all sure she really wanted it.

“I think I prefer Mia,” he said, noting the sudden regret in her expression. He wanted so badly to reach out and comfort her, but his wrists were still attached to the bed.

Mia buried her hands in his tangled golden hair and thought of all the things she had been waiting all these months to tell him. So much had happened, after all. And she still was not sure whether she should continue to trust him. Zevran was truly an enigma to her. One minute he was holding her close and whispering promise after promise, and the next he was stood with another man’s blood on his hands as if it meant nothing to him. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking sometimes. During the Blight she was a leader - people looked to her for guidance and knew she could make sense of difficult situations. Yet for reasons unbeknownst to her, she could not help putting blind faith in a man who once tried to kill her. 

No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to tear herself away from him. 

“I think I have earned my release, no?” he said. His wrists tugged on the belt. 

“Sorry,” she replied, shaking herself from her thoughts and unbuckling the belt. It reminded her of the first night she brought him back to camp, wrists bound and negotiating his release. She wondered if he enjoyed being tied up like that, even then. His life had been on the line, yes, but he was a man of strange tastes.

The window was open, letting in a mild winter chill that prompted them back into their clothes and into a seated embrace by the fireplace. They sat in silence for a long time, unsure of who should be first to narrate the stories from their months apart. Not wanting to ruin the mood so soon, Zevran let Mia tell him of Vigil’s Keep. Her achievements never failed to astound him, especially when he considered she was once just a Dalish huntress whose largest concern was feeding her clan. 

Zevran kept his side of the story short and sweet, not wanting to get into any more trouble than he already had. 

He also wanted to prepare her for the bad news. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mia said eventually. The arms that cradled her were warm and comforting, but by no means a guarantee of safety. Yet this was what she wanted more than anything. The fire cracked and spat sparks into the air, its flames licking the pot of fish chowder that was bubbling in the cauldron. 

“Like what?” Zevran asked. 

“I know that look. What have you done?” she asked with a heavy sigh. 

“I have done nothing. I assure you.” 

“Then what is it?” 

He said nothing, wondering if it would be better left unsaid. Zevran was not afraid of Mia. What he feared was disappointing her, which was something he felt he had done a lot of lately. 

_No more lies,_ he told himself. 

“There's another Crow looking to kill me. Grandmaster Avalia is her name. Although the Crows cannot prove it, they seem to know I'm the source of the murders. It must be something about the way I killed them. Perhaps I left a clue. Or perhaps they simply expected nothing less of me. I fear we won't be able to settle down just yet." 

Zevran was expecting Mia to react poorly to this news, yet much to his surprise, she merely cupped his face in her cold hands and smiled. 

“I know, _vhenan_. And when that day comes, I'm going to help you kill her.” 


	7. The Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran grows tired of living a quiet life. He and Mia go undercover at a masquerade.

The letter came in late Wintermarch, almost one moon from First Day. 

“And you say I am the one taking risks?” Zevran said.

Mia took the letter from the courier and closed the door. “It’s necessary." 

Before leaving Denerim one year ago, she had promised to update her closest companions with her new address as soon as she was able. The letter confirmed her efforts had not been for nothing. 

“Is it from Alistair?” Zevran asked, craning his head to catch a glimpse of the parchment Mia was turning away from him. Over the long, cold weeks since Mia’s return, Zevran had been driven to insanity with boredom. His mind did not fare well when he felt there was no purpose for him. Even the mere mention of returning to Antiva City would get him into trouble these days. At first Zevran respected her concerns, but now he was beginning to resent her for them, as it was becoming clear that her rules only applied to him. 

“Let me read it first!” said Mia, holding the paper out of his reach. 

Zevran clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted was another argument. Especially not after last week. The small town they now called home was much too quiet for Zevran’s liking. No matter how hard he tried to find something to do, he more often than not found himself staring at the cracks in the ceiling, or throwing stones into the pond at the end of the street. This was supposed to be what he wanted. A quiet life where he was free to do as he wished and to love as freely as he pleased. 

Now that he had it, he was not sure if there was any point to it all. 

“Please,” Zevran said finally. He had been patient, after all. 

“It’s from Alistair,” Mia said bluntly. She brushed past his shoulder and went to collect her knapsack from the end of the bed. “I’m going for a walk. Need to think some things over. Want me to bring you anything back from the market?” 

Zevran watched her put the letter in her pocket and began to feel sick with rage. 

“Do you ever consider my feelings at all?” he snapped. 

“The letter is addressed to me, is it not?” 

“You know that is not the point,” he said. “Why should you take risks but not I? I feel like a caged animal.” 

“You're bored and want to commit a murder.” 

The cold air whistled through the gaps in the door frame as Zevran took a deep breath to calm himself. He did, in fact, have the urge to commit a murder. But he was not about to admit it. 

“I want a purpose,” he said honestly. “You get to rule an arling in Ferelden yet I am not even allowed to visit my home city? Do you know how frustrating that is?” 

“Alistair is an intermediary between the seneschal of the Vigil and I. That’s as discreet as I can be without contacting the Vigil directly. I’m doing the bare minimum for our own sakes, but I still have duties.” 

“Whereas I do not,” he snarled. For a moment, Mia thought he might storm off as he had done the other day. She was relieved when he instead went to sit at the table, though his downcast gaze was not something she could easily ignore. She sighed. Spending every day together in one room was doing neither of them any good, despite both previously thinking this was the quiet life they wanted. They had hoped the new year would bring them a fresh perspective, but neither were adapting well to normality, with each day more intolerable than the last. They were both tired of it. 

He did not look up when she sat beside him. It was quite unlike Zevran to be angry, yet his temper was growing shorter and shorter by the day – one minute he was making a joke and the next he was slamming doors and offering one-word replies. 

When Mia placed the letter on the table, he thought about not reading it on general principle, but life had been so dull of late that he simply could not refuse. 

His eyes widened as he scanned the page. “And you were going to keep this from me? It says right here ‘ _this might be of interest to_ _Zevran'_ _,_ ” he said, underlining the phrase with his finger. 

“I told you. I needed to think about it.” 

The more Zevran read, the more he felt that sense of purpose returning to him again. And with it, a life of danger and excitement, just the way he preferred it. As it turned out, Alistair had come across details of a masquerade in Antiva City where several high-ranking Crows were expected to attend. Not only that, but Alistair had offered a means for them to attend incognito. Two aliases with respectable titles and a means of confirming their identity without arousing suspicion. At first Mia wondered just how he came across such information, as the social events of high Antivan society were not exactly a priority for the King of Ferelden right now, though it occurred to her that Leliana might have written to him. At any rate, she was glad to think they still thought of Zevran, despite Alistair’s initial distrust of him. 

“How kind you are Alistair,” Zevran said. “Lord and Lady Calchano would be delighted to attend.” 

The look on Mia’s face told him otherwise. 

“And what exactly do you stand to gain from this?” she asked. 

“Ah, if you haven’t been to an Antivan ball, my dear, you would not know.” 

Mia pressed her face into her hands and slumped over the table in defeat. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” 

“It will be fun!” he said. “We must make a trip to the tailor at once. Then our disguise will be ready by Wintersend and we can drink to our heart’s content. I wonder if there will be an orgy.” 

Although the news had lightened his spirits, Mia knew that he was not at all interested in the drink nor the orgies. She knew exactly what he wanted, and she was right. It was the Crows that interested him. 

“You don’t even like these kinds of gatherings. You were complaining for the whole of Alistair’s coronation! I know exactly what you’re thinking about, and I don’t like it one bit. I swear if you turn this into a bloodbath-” 

“Who said anything about a bloodbath? But now that you mention it...” he said with a jocular grin. 

Mia looked at him and exhaled sharply, knowing there would be no convincing him. It was going to happen whether she liked it or not. 

“If you want to go, then go,” she said. “But you shan’t see me there.” 

Mia stood outside the grand estate, dressed in the most spectacular outfit she had ever worn. If it were not for the mask, the guests might have thought her unhappy to attend. 

The estate was tucked into the hilly outskirts of the city, closed off by its high walls and spectacular gardens that covered the terrain as far as the eye could see. Mia could hear the laughter and music even at this distance. The road to the estate was lined with lanterns and neat rows of olive trees, which were strung together with bunting that bore the golden drake of Antiva. The estate belonged to Orlanda Valisti, a daughter of the well-respected Valisti dynasty and descendent of a line of merchant princes founded by Princess Liviana herself. Many of the members were based in Treviso, although they were wealthy enough to afford Orlanda her own estate in the capital. The Valisti name was remembered by every member of the Crows, whether through fear or through admiration, and to be invited to one of their parties was truly an honour. 

The manor at the centre of the grounds was by no means as impressive as the Palace of the Kings, which was widely regarded as the centrepiece of Antiva City, yet there was rarely a guest of Orlanda Valisti who could fault the manor’s charm. The towering arched doorways, the winding ivy that covered the bricks, and the magnificent fountain between the front courtyard staircases. Even Mia was impressed. 

Zevran escorted Mia towards the entrance, letting her take his arm so that they could play the part of husband and wife as best they could. It had been difficult for him to explain the complex structure of Antivan politics to her, as his country’s power was divided over a great many people, all of which were vying for dominance in a system vastly different from that of Ferelden. Although Mia was proud of how much she learned over the past few days, she intended to let Zevran do most of the talking. It was safer that way. 

They climbed the steps until they found the large arched entrance that looked into an impressive entrance hall. Despite his hesitation, the masked doorman folded away their forged invitations and permitted them into the foyer. Many guests drifted past them, all faceless and dressed in high Antivan fashion, recognisable only by voice or signature accessories. 

A silver-haired gentleman with a golden half-mask approached them as they entered. 

Zevran whispered to Mia as he approached, recognising the brooch fastened to the man’s cloak. “That is Lord Yves Montilyet. His family were once powerful, now not so much, though they have a marvellous estate in the city. Much like this one, actually.” 

“Have you been?” 

“Once, yes,” Zevran whispered, before making a small bow at Lord Montilyet’s arrival. 

“Well met!” said the man. Many of the guests here spoke common tongue as a formality, as not all guests were strictly Antivan, though many preferred to revert to their mother tongue given the opportunity. Fortunately for Mia, this man did not presume their origin. “And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” he asked. 

“Lord Calchano,” replied Zevran. “And this is my wife. Have we met before?” 

The man bowed politely. “Yves Montilyet. And no, I don’t believe we have. Are you local? I must confess I do not recognise your family name.” 

“Ah, not to worry Lord Montilyet. We are a family of Antivan traders now living in Ferelden. Though our trade has been in decline over recent years. Rivaini pirates are hard to contend with, no?” 

The man seemed to relax all of a sudden, as if he had been searching for someone to relate to all evening. “You can say that again. I am sure you have heard of what happened to our house. But not to worry. We are excited to announce that the king has recently appointed our eldest, Josie, as chief ambassador to Orlais.” 

“That is excellent news, is it not?” said Zevran, jabbing Mia in the side with his elbow. 

“Oh- uh, yes!” Mia stammered. “That is wonderful news!” 

Yves offered her a warm smile. “Your accent, my lady - would it be rude of me to presume you are not Antivan?” 

“No, not at all,” said Mia, grateful that she did not have to pretend she was native. “My dear husband here met me in Ferelden, actually.” 

“How lovely!” said Yves. 

Zevran found himself searching the room curiously. There were several people he recognised already, though there were no Crows yet to be seen – any one of them could have been a Crow, and there were a great many people choose from. Crows were not usually ones for showing off during a masquerade, even if they happened to be on good terms with the hostess. 

After listening to Lord Montilyet speak at great length about his five children, they were eventually ushered into the atrium along with the other guests and presented to the hostess one after another. Mia knew there were a lot of notable figures in Antiva, but the list seemed to go on forever, and she found it difficult to pay attention. Zevran, on the other hand, was watching with great interest, deciding who to avoid and who was worth talking to. When it was their turn to be presented, Mia clung to Zevran’s arm as firmly as she could and vowed never to let it go. She was only here to stop him doing anything foolish, after all. 

“ _Lord and Lady_ _Calchano,"_ called the announcer as they made their way across the centre of the atrium, feeling many judging eyes fall upon them. 

Although they had made very sure that their masks covered their facial tattoos, Mia could not help but fiddle with hers and keep checking it was fastened properly. She had also gone to great lengths to ensure her pointed ears were covered by her hair, just to be safe. There was no knowing just who might recognise them. 

They stopped before their hostess with a bow and a curtsy. Orlanda Valisti was not much younger than them, yet she had a great deal of presence amongst her guests. Attending her was her brother, Claudio, and their father, who had the most presence of them all. 

Orlanda only offered them a small nod, before continuing to play with the long, dark curls that trailed down to her waist. 

“Never heard of them,” Orlanda murmured under her breath as they passed. Zevran felt himself grow tense when he passed Claudio, who was busy chuckling at his sister’s brazen remark. In truth, Zevran hated them all. These were the very people who bribed Eoman to turn against Rinna. 

_I have not forgotten,_ Zevran wanted to say. 

When they re-joined the other guests in the west wing of the atrium, Mia loosened her vice-like grip on Zevran’s arm and exhaled slowly, feeling her breath condense under her mask. She suddenly felt awfully warm inside her gown. Fortunately, she had brought a hand fan, which she snapped open and began to wave anxiously. 

“That wasn’t so bad, see?” Zevran said. “Although I cannot bear to look at those people after what happened.” 

Mia understood. The story was familiar to her, though she knew that the tragedy could not be undone. The only thing left for Zevran now was vengeance, and Mia felt the situation was perhaps best left at Eoman’s murder. 

“I still don’t know what you intend to achieve here,” Mia hissed. Despite having forbade Zevran from getting into any trouble, there were still a pair of precautionary knives strapped to her thigh for good measure. And she was fairly certain he had done something similar, as much as she loathed to admit it. 

As more couples sauntered across the pretty mosaic on the floor of the atrium, Mia struggled to recognise many of the names that announced them. Yvette and Antoine Montilyet eventually made an appearance, each with respective partners and followed soon after by their mother and father. Whispers could be heard amongst the crowd as the Montilyets made their way to greet the Valistis. 

“’ _Twas_ _bold of_ _Fulgeno_ _to appoint their daughter ambassador of a country that once exiled them..._ ” 

“ _Pah! Yvette wore that dress at the_ _Satinalia_ _ball. What was she thinking?”_

As the queue at the entrance grew smaller, Mia came to the dismal realisation that they might have to engage in more conversation soon. She was not looking forward to the rest of the evening. Not even the promise of wine from the best vineyards in Antiva could lighten her mood. 

When the room grew quiet, Mia glanced over to see an elegant woman emerge from the great arched doorway and stride into view. The lady wore an elegant dress as dark as the midnight sky and a spectacular mask adorned with a dozen black feathers. Zevran knew the woman did not need the announcer to tell the guests who she was. 

“ _Grandmaster Avalia_ _Arainai_ _,_ ” called the announcer, whose voice resonated around the hall, reducing hushed whispers to complete silence. 

Mia could not tell if the guests were silent in fear or out of admiration. Regardless, she felt her fingers digging into Zevran’s arm once again. She was anticipating the presence of Crows – not the very Crow who was looking to kill her betrothed. And it seemed Avalia was the belle of the ball. 

Avalia made confident strides towards Orlanda, her heavy gown trailing behind her gracefully. The Grandmaster did not have a partner, having risen to her rank through being the best Crow one could be. And a good Crow did not spend time thinking about who to take to a masquerade. Zevran had not even made the simple rank of Master. 

The room watched as Avalia made a very small curtsy and bent before Orlanda, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. 

_And all in the name of ambition,_ Zevran thought. The Valisti family had been instrumental in restoring House Arainai’s position within the Crows after it was reduced to _cuchillo_ eight years ago. Yet this help came at the cost of Rinna’s life. The Valisti family was ambitious, to say the least - they stopped Rosso Noche pushing Rinna’s claim to the throne so that their own chances may be increased. With the Rosso Noche successfully disbanded, the Valisti family were just managing to hold onto their status as Eighth Talon, and Claudio was already setting his sights higher to compensate for the ineptitude of his father. 

Following the announcements and brief speech from Orlanda, the guests dispersed around the hall and into the side rooms, excited to begin a long night of drinking and gossip. 

Zevran and Mia spent the first half hour of the social stood in a corner by the drinks table, taking the opportunity to sample the wine. Every vineyard-owning guest had brought their finest samples as a gift, with many merchants stood around the table discussing the different textures and flavours. Antiva was known for its wine throughout Thedas, so it was unsurprising to encounter such impassioned discussions, although Mia was beginning to wonder if she knew anything about wine at all. To her, it all just tasted like wine. Zevran laughed when she told him that, though urged her to keep that to herself for tonight. 

They were soon dragged into a colourful discussion with two of Antiva’s most respected wine traders. It was impossible for either of them to get a word in, as the two men were already in a heated debate over whose wine had the most body to it, and they spoke so fast that neither Zevran nor Mia had space to answer their questions. After the bearded merchant cut Zevran off for the seventh time in a row, Zevran began to zone out of the conversation entirely, his eyes searching around the room for something more interesting. An opportunity. 

After Zevran excused himself for the privy, Mia tried her best to comment on the wine without causing offense, unsure if it would be rude to excuse herself also. Much to her dismay, she could not even find an opening to take her leave. It was difficult for her to know how to come out of the discussion without offending one of the merchants, as they both insisted she told them which wine she preferred. Each time they asked, she told them they were equally delicious, though this only led them to debate the matter further. 

After twenty minutes, Mia began to feel restless. No matter how many times she searched the room in the hope that Zevran was making his way back to her, she could not see his red-gold mask nor his braided blonde hair. 

“No really, Lady Calchano, you must speak your mind. Is it the Trevisi Dulce or the Seleny Rosso?” said the Trevisi merchant. 

“I really cannot say I-” 

“If you can look past the initial aroma, I’m sure you can notice the flavour of hazelnut and-” the man interrupted, before being cut off himself by a somewhat agitated Zevran. 

Her pretend husband took her by the arm and began to usher her away. “My sincerest apologies, gentlemen. I must speak with my wife at once. Urgent business I’m afraid. You know how it is, hmm?” 

Before the merchants could even think of a reply, Zevran had already hauled her to the other side of the atrium, which opened up into a picturesque courtyard strung with lanterns. Once they found a quiet corner, Zevran pulled her close and spoke in a quiet voice. 

“Something is not right,” said Zevran, checking over his shoulder. “Avalia is up to something. I am sure of it.” 

“How am I not surprised you’ve been sneaking around already...” 

“I have not!” he protested. “Well... I have been watching the shadows if that is what you mean. As I was returning to you, I saw Avalia go into the private gardens leading to Orlanda’s quarters. Alone.” 

“Well I admire your perception but it’s quite clear she’s licking their boots. Perhaps she’s going to meet Orlanda in private?” 

Zevran shook his head. “No. House Arainai has a lot to thank the Valisti family for but there is not much stopping Claudio stabbing them in the back if it suits him. I know Claudio well.” 

“That doesn’t mean Avalia wouldn't meet with them,” said Mia. 

“This would be true, if the entire Valisti family were not stood in the atrium right now,” said Zevran, glancing through the window to confirm they were still there, laughing and drinking the night away. “I know this place. Orlanda _always_ keeps those parts of the estate off-limits to guests.” 

“Then what do you suppose we do? Follow the woman that wants you dead?” 

“Yes,” said Zevran. He held out his hand as if asking her for a dance. “That is exactly what I intend to do.” 


	8. These Violent Delights

“We must be quick,” said Zevran. He took Mia by the hand and wove through the grand hall with such urgency that she almost tripped over her skirt. 

The room was even more crowded now that the latecomers had filtered in, and the air was thick with the smell of perfume and wine; it was an evening of pomp and pageantry, designed not only as another excuse to drink, but to flaunt the wealth and power of the Valisti dynasty as a warning to any nobles or Crows who dared to oppose them. Couples were now assembling for a dance in the centre of the hall as the minstrels began to up the tempo of their traditional Antivan medley. 

The nobles of Antiva were never too tired for a masked ball, even after enduring a whole week of similar festivities at Satinalia. 

As much as Mia and Zevran would have liked to drink themselves into a stupor, there was no time for them to enjoy the party. The only thing Zevran could think about now was what Avalia was up to. In truth, Zevran did not know what he expected to achieve that evening, but he felt it was far more productive than sitting in a hut on the outskirts of the city. 

The pair of them wove between the crowd until they reached the other side of the hall, where they were intercepted by Yves Montilyet and his family. 

“Lord and Lady Calchano,” said Yves. “Have you seen my daughter, Yvette? I know you have not been properly introduced but... you must have seen her at the opening ceremony. Blue dress, white mask...?” 

“No, I’m afraid we haven’t,” said Mia. 

“We shall keep an eye out,” Zevran started. “But we really must-” 

“She has been gone for almost an hour!” blurted Antoine, Yves’ son. He was the spitting image of his father – same long, freckled nose and high cheekbones. And it was quite clear that he cared deeply for his little sister. “Please, if you see her, let us know. We do not want to cause a scene but... this is highly unusual for her.” 

“We'll let you know,” said Mia, who barely managed to make her promise before Zevran pulled her away towards a long, narrow corridor. The corridor that ran off the west wing of the atrium, winding past the privy and the kitchens before opening up into a wide hallway that was dark and cold, its atmosphere deliberately uninviting in order to discourage guests from lingering there. The doors that ran along the corridor were supposed to have been locked, and yet when Zevran turned the handle of the door to the private gardens, it opened. Locked doors never stopped Avalia. And nobody was there to stop them either, so they slipped out into the night. 

“If I’ve learned one thing from this, it’s that Antivans have terrible security,” Mia said. 

“Well, there’s a reason your King Meghren put a stop to masquerades,” said Zevran. “He loved Orlesian traditions, being Orlesian himself, but rumour has it after an assassin turned up at one of his parties, the Fereldan nobility would no longer tolerate the masks.” 

“I never took you for a Fereldan historian.” 

Zevran smiled to himself. “The Crows did teach me _some_ history, if you can believe it. Especially anything regarding assassins.” 

The enclosed garden was barely lit, though the path was straight and led directly to Orlanda’s quarters. As they approached the two-storey building they noticed all the windows were dark except for one. They were not surprised to find the front door had also been picked, so they entered the dark foyer as quietly as they could and followed the light up a winding set of stairs. On the left was a small office, which Zevran was quick to inspect. Inside, the desk was covered in opened letters and the walls had several documents pinned to them, though he thought it would be wise not to move any of them. Instead, he tried to memorise as much information as he could, searching for anything that could be used as blackmail fodder one day. He hated the Valistis. 

While Zevran was busy in the office, Mia made straight for the bedroom at the end of the corridor. 

As she approached, she felt a sudden gust of wind as the door slammed shut, leaving the corridor in a darkness that made her shiver. It was then that she knew where Avalia had been. Mia kept a hand where her weapons were hiding as she pressed the door open. 

The sight before her was bad enough to send her running back for Zevran, who abandoned his task immediately and joined her in the bedroom. 

“Well, that is not ideal,” he said. 

The bodies of two elven servants lay sprawled across the floor, and on the bed lay Yvette Montilyet. Blue dress, white mask, and hands that were stained red with blood. 

Zevran stepped carefully around the gore so that he could check Yvette’s pulse. She was still breathing, but otherwise dead to the world. 

“Mild poison. It is not enough to kill, but she will be asleep for some time,” he concluded. Despite his skill at lockpicking leaving something to be desired, he had always been confident with poisons. Not only could he concoct a wide variety of poisons with varying strengths and properties, but he also knew how to identify their effects on others. It was somewhat of a hobby. 

In an attempt to avoid the blood, Mia lifted her skirt and watched her step. In doing so, she noticed something was stuck to her foot: a long, black feather. 

“This is a setup,” said Mia, showing Zevran what she had found. The feather was identical to the ones on Avalia’s mask. 

“Mmm. I knew Avalia would be conspiring against someone tonight, though I was not expecting it to be the Montilyets. This will ruin them.” 

“That isn’t fair.” 

“The Crows do not care about what is fair,” he said. “Avalia knows the Montilyets are already in a... somewhat delicate situation. And desperate people make for excellent scapegoats.” 

Mia surveyed the room. It was a chaotic mess: papers strewn across the bed, clothes spilling out of the drawers, trinkets and jewellery lying on the floor as if they had no value. In any other circumstance, Mia would say the room had fallen victim to petty thievery, though she suspected Avalia had been searching for something very specific. 

“What better way to distract the Valistis from House Arainai’s schemes than to point the finger at the Montilyets?” said Zevran. He shook his head. 

They knew at once what they had to do. There was no going back, and the only exit was through the open window that Avalia escaped through, so there was no chance of moving Yvette despite her innocence. They were not there to right wrongs. What they saw was not an injustice against the Montilyets, but an opportunity to implicate Avalia. 

The hall was even busier when they returned, and the dancing much less coordinated, although this was to be expected given the amount of wine on offer. When they joined in for a dance at Orlanda’s insistence, they felt as though they were the only ones remotely sober. Zevran watched the room as he held Mia’s waist, guiding her through the moves of a dance he barely remembered, and the whole time searching for Avalia. 

As the minstrels changed tempo, several couples had to bow out on account of being too drunk, which gave the audience a good laugh. Zevran could see her now – her magnificent black skirts gliding gracefully across the mosaic, and her gaze fixed on Claudio, who seemed more than happy to be dancing with her. At least, Zevran thought they were dancing rather promiscuously for a masquerade. It was enough for even him to raise an eyebrow. 

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Mia said, struggling to move her feet in time with Zevran’s. If it was not for the drunken dancing that came before them, Mia thought she would have done a poor job of playing the part of a noble. Yet, she _was_ a noble now. The fact that this had not quite sunk in for her was evident in how she coordinated herself, yet she had not expected to have to bother with higher social etiquette so soon, let alone learn foreign dances. It was something she had actively avoided back in Denerim, and she knew nobody would dare ask the Hero of Ferelden to prove herself worthy of a title. 

“You are doing fine, _amore_. Just follow my lead,” said Zevran, although he was not at all focused on her. Yves and his family were still searching for Yvette, and they looked far more concerned than they had earlier. In another life, perhaps Zevran would have put them out of their misery and told them, though his only concern now was Avalia. 

He was not at all surprised when a servant rushed to whisper in Orlanda’s ear. And neither was he surprised when Orlanda came to take her brother from the dance. What surprised him was that Avalia took her leave from the ballroom before the song had even ended. Not in the direction of the exit, and not in the direction of the lounges or the privies – Zevran knew the floor plan enough to know that she was headed for somewhere off-limits again. 

“I don’t like that,” said Mia, who was thinking the same thing. 

Zevran held Mia’s waist and guided her as best he could through the final moves of the song until the music was reduced to a quiet, ambient tune which sent the other couples stumbling into the applauding audience. 

“It was not a setup. It was a trap.” Zevran took her by the hand and led her through the crowd once again, this time hoping not to be stopped by the Montilyets. Although Zevran could not care less about the Valistis at that moment in time, the last thing he wanted was Avalia to succeed in her plan and advance the Arainai name amongst the Crows. 

“Won’t Orlanda have locked the doors behind her?” Mia asked. 

“Yes, and I am not wasting time picking them,” said Zevran. “There is another way.” 

When they returned to the dark corridor, the door to the garden was indeed locked, so they continued to the open door at the very end which led down into the servants’ quarters. The basement was damp and dingy, with ceilings covered in cobwebs and floors that needed re-paving. It was eerily quiet since almost all of the servants were busy managing the party, and the few who remained were napping behind closed doors. 

“Ahh, to be a servant for Orlanda Valisti. What a life!” said Zevran. 

“You better have a plan.” 

“I will not lie,” he said. “I do not.” 

Before Mia could protest, Zevran broke into a quiet jog and headed for the end of the next corridor, which ran underneath the gardens and up some stairs into the ground floor of Orlanda’s quarters. Mia tried her best to keep up, despite tripping over her dress and crashing into a table as she stumbled into the foyer. 

Zevran helped her up, hoping nobody had heard. “Such grace,” he said. 

“I am not a graceful person,” Mia hissed, brushing herself off as they headed for the entrance. 

The lanterns either side of the front door were lit this time, so they were able to see just how extensive Orlanda’s quarters really were. Everything seemed so exotic and expensive - even the figures embroidered into her tapestries seemed happy to be there. Then came the voices from upstairs – Orlanda shouting obscenities in a fast Trevisi dialect and Claudio trying to calm her. Mia could not understand what they were saying but the tone made her wonder what had become of poor Yvette. 

Despite this, Yvette was not their concern. They instead took the opportunity to investigate the foyer in case they were not alone. After checking behind almost every corner and piece of furniture in the room, they eventually concluded that Avalia was already upstairs. 

But narrating their thoughts out loud had been their first mistake. 

“You are in my way,” said Grandmaster Avalia, forcing Zevran into a backwards chokehold. Her raspy voice was quiet but commanding, giving the impression that she was used to intimidating her victims into doing as she wished. 

For a moment, Zevran played along, letting Avalia restrain him while sending a subtle signal to usher Mia upstairs. _I will be okay,_ his eyes said. And Mia understood. 

“Run along back down those stairs now, my dear,” she said, making a point to choke the air out of Zevran. “Go back from where you came, and I will spare your darling husband.” 

Zevran could not help but gasp for air, though Mia knew he was waiting for her to go. She did not intend to go the way Avalia was asking. 

Refusing to let her extravagant outfit hinder her this time, Mia hiked up her skirt and raced up the staircase towards the Valistis as Avalia cursed and evaluated her next move. 

Zevran had been trying to pry her arms from his neck the entire time, unable to catch a breath, though he was surprised to find a sharp kick in the kneecaps loosened her grip significantly, allowing him to spin around and smash his forehead into her face. The blow knocked her flat onto her back, and the shock was enough for the seasoned Crow to snap to her senses. Avalia rolled away from his next attack to buy herself time to jump back up and launch herself at him. She cried out in rage and threw herself at him with such force that Zevran was unable to keep his footing. 

“Why are you here?” she said, fumbling inside her skirts for a knife. When she pulled out the blade, Zevran grabbed her wrist so tightly that he could feel her pulse racing on his fingertips. 

“I have the same question. And no need to greet me quite so violently,” said Zevran, watching her fail to pry his hand off her wrist. “Tsk, tsk - you know weapons are forbidden, Avalia. How very naughty of you.” 

When she heard his voice, Avalia stopped struggling against him and sat on top of him with her mouth agape. “You...” Avalia snatched the mask from his face and tossed it across the room. As soon as she recognised the elf lying beneath her, she threw a fist into his face and struggled harder than ever before. 

Zevran recoiled and tried to grab her other wrist, but she batted away his hand and struck him again. His nose began to bleed. 

“You are the whoreson that made this trip necessary! I am only here to help Arainai recover from the setbacks you have caused!” she cried. 

Before she could attack him again, Zevran used all his strength to throw her off his lap and climb to his feet. When she tried to get up, he kicked her in the face and seized her knife, before backing towards the door with the knife held towards her. 

Avalia groaned as she got up, holding her face and trying to pretend his kick had not been as agonising as it actually was. “First Eoman, then Runn... you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” 

Zevran wiped the blood from his nose. “Oh, I know. I’m going to be killed, tortured, or worse. I’ve heard it all before, and I don’t care.” 

“I’m not talking about that,” she said. “I know why you’re doing this, and it’s all very poetic, but we are talking about the fate of Antiva here. There are more people to think about than yourself.” 

“If you cared so much about Antiva, then you would let me go. It would benefit us both quite nicely.” 

“And if we let you go, would that stop you?” 

Zevran did not reply, so Avalia continued to approach him with complete disregard for the knife that was pointing at her. She walked straight into the blade, knowing he would not push it into her as she pressed it back with her body. Avalia continued walking until Zevran’s back hit the wall and her face was a few inches from his own. She removed her mask and stared at him, unafraid of the knife he held against her throat. 

“Such a shame,” she said. “You could have been Grandmaster like me. Such a pretty little thing, with so much potential...” 

Her lips glistened in the candlelight. 

“You better leave now,” Zevran said coldly. “Unless you want Orlanda to find you.” 

“I don’t care,” she whispered. 

Before Zevran could pull away, Avalia pinned his wrist against the wall and pressed her lips against his, making sure his lips parted enough to lock with hers. 

He shook his head away and pushed her back, his mouth tasting the sharp bitterness from her lips. When he saw the tiny vial she then swigged, he realised what she had done and started towards her. 

“Give me that!” he shouted, chasing after her and pushing her to the ground at the bottom of the stairs. He fought against her, trying to reach inside the pockets of her skirt to search for wherever she stored the antidote for her poison. He did not even know if she had any more, and he cursed himself for not having his wits about him earlier, but he knew if he did not find it, he would soon be unconscious. 

Zevran fought against Avalia until they were both covered in blood and bruises. His vision began to blur and he began to feel sick, yet when two dark-haired figures appeared on the steps above him, he knew it was over. Claudio was holding Mia by her hair, having bound and gagged her and discarded her mask. Zevran tried to keep his focus on her, desperately fighting to remain conscious, to reassure her, yet he could not even hear the voices around him. 

And then everything was dark. 

When Zevran awoke, he found himself tied to a chair in Orlanda’s bedroom, sat across from Mia and Avalia, who were also gagged and restrained. The blood and bodies were gone, and Yvette was still unconscious on the bed, her hands now clean and tied behind her back with a belt. 

Mia stared at Zevran with eyes that meant to scold him, though he could tell she was scared. Instead of reassuring her, his eyes fell to the floor. His mind became clouded in a familiar darkness and self-hatred, once again feeling like he was the worst choice she ever made. 

After a time, Yvette began to stir from her long slumber. The girl was only in her mid-teens, though it was hard for any of them to tell with her mask still on. When the poor girl realised she could not move her arms, she began to scream into the mattress her face was pressed into and try to pull the belt from her wrists. The three rogues could do nothing but watch her in silent pity. For a moment, Mia wondered if Avalia felt guilty, though the woman’s amused expression told her otherwise. 

They soon heard at least three voices in the corridor, and footsteps that grew louder with each step. The heavy door swung open and a pair of elves approached Yvette with a small tincture, the contents of which were then forced into her mouth. The potion soothed her in an instant, and the elves carried her awkwardly out of the room. 

Soon after, the Valisti siblings entered and closed the door behind them. Neither of them looked impressed. 

“I’ve been looking for a reason not to slit your throats,” said Claudio. “I haven’t found one.” 

Orlanda stood behind him, arms folded. “I think we should do it. They won’t be the last to cross us, but I’m sure their disappearance will discourage someone.” 

“Lord and Lady Calchano,” Claudio laughed. “No wonder the name was unfamiliar. It sounds like you had quite the adventure in Ferelden, Zevran! Did Eoman not tell you that you were supposed to _kill_ your target?” 

Avalia began to chuckle to herself, but Orlanda slapped her across the face. “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t kill her. I, for one, was pleased to hear the Blight had ended. Can you imagine? We’d have had to run off to father’s place in Rivain.” Orlanda grimaced at the thought. 

Claudio removed the cloths that were stuffed into everyone’s mouths and waited to hear their defence. 

“Why did you let Yvette go?” Mia asked. 

Orlanda shrugged. “If she was part of a conspiracy against us, I could have her house destroyed within a day. Anyway, the girl is scarcely capable of killing a fly, let alone two of my servants. When she wakes up, she will simply think she had too much wine. Pah! That’s beside the point – I want to know why the Hero of Ferelden is snooping around my private quarters with two members of House Arainai.” With a heavy sigh, Orlanda then turned towards Avalia. “I am disappointed in you, Ava. We were supposed to be allies. If you think we’re going to help you now...” She shook her head. 

“I followed these two here,” Avalia lied. “You know Zevran has been a headache for us. I think you were his next target – that's why I had to poison him.” 

Zevran shot her a dubious look. His head was throbbing and there was vomit on his shirt, but he knew someone had given him an antidote, otherwise he would have been dead by now. 

“Shut up,” Mia said. “You set up Yvette for your own benefit. I had no idea Grandmasters were such cowards.” 

“Ha! You speak to me of cowardice? You were too afraid to kill the worst assassin in Antiva! You let him seduce you – and for what? So that he could drag you into this mess? Do you like being used for someone else’s schemes? The tales paint you as a hero, warden - yet all I see here is an idiot.” 

“Now, now girls,” Claudio said. “No need to get your knickers in a twist.” 

Orlanda held the black feather before Avalia and smiled. At that, both Mia and Zevran let out a sigh of relief, pleased to see their clue had not been overlooked. “You’re not lying your way out of this one, Ava. I can’t believe you’d throw away our friendship like this.” 

“You were never my friend.” Avalia spat at her feet. “I knew you were going to stab Arainai in the back at the first opportunity, especially now Eoman is dead. Now I know I was right.” 

Those words made Claudio uneasy, so he strode over to Avalia and began to search her dress. Trying to remain as respectful as he could, he reached into the top of her dress and pulled out a handwritten letter, which he handed to his sister. There was no mistaking the intent behind the letter – it was a clear betrayal of House Arainai, signed by none other than Orlanda Valisti. The Araini Grandmaster was seething with indignation when Orlanda looked up from her letter. 

“Is this what you wanted, Zevran?” asked Claudio. Although the man was younger than Zevran, he boasted a hundred times more influence in Antivan political circles. “If you were here to see Arainai fall out of our favour, you have your wish.” 

It was not the outcome Zevran had anticipated from the evening, though he did not have any complaints. Regardless of his small victory, he could not bring himself to look Claudio in the eye. 

“I heard you were quite fond of Rinnala, the royal bastard,” Claudio said. 

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about her,” Zevran snapped. 

“I only meant to say that I am sorry. For your loss,” said Claudio. There was a soft sincerity in his voice that convinced Zevran to look up at him. “My father is an ambitious man, and Rinnala was stood in our way. You know how it is in this country. Mercy is not an option for people like us – surely you of all people know this. We did what we did to survive.” 

Zevran shook his head. That was exactly what Taliesen had said at the time of her death. Zevran tried to fight against the memories of that night, which were now flooding back into his mind all at once, tormenting him in the way they always did. 

When Claudio cut Zevran free, the man held out a hand and waited for Zevran to accept it. Zevran was not at all sure he could trust the man, though he reluctantly took the hand and shook it when he found his footing. 

“I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive our family,” Claudio said. “At least for now, I hope you will accept our apology.” 

“I accept it,” said Zevran. When Mia had been freed by Orlanda, she came to stand beside him, where she belonged. 

Claudio then spoke with a sudden coldness. “With all that in mind, I want you to leave my sister’s estate and to never return. If I catch either of you meddling in our affairs again, we will not be so merciful, regardless of your intention. _Comprendes_?” 

“ _Entiendo_ ,” said Zevran. He nodded to the Valistis and caught a final glimpse of Avalia, who watched him with a murderous stare. She was most definitely set on killing him now - if she ever made it out of the estate alive, that was. Zevran took Mia by the hand and escorted her through the back of the estate. Maskless, bruised, and bleeding, both of them looked worse for wear, and not a word was exchanged between them until they reached the quiet, lantern-lit path that led to the front gate. 

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked. 

Mia let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the stars. She could see her breath swirling in the cold, winter air. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yes,” he lied, unable to look at her. His face was bruised and he was covered in his own blood and vomit, but that was not what troubled him. His mind was clouded with memories of Rinna and he felt dirty for shaking Claudio’s hand. He felt as if he had wronged Rinna once again. And on top of everything, he felt guilty for continuing to endanger Mia with his reckless schemes. Schemes he had not even thought out – he cursed himself for not even doing her that courtesy. For all the months he had spent making his life count for something, his head was beginning to feel heavy once again, full of cruel voices that taunted him for his every action and word. 

Mia squeezed his hand. She knew. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

They journeyed home in silence, but Mia refused to let go of his hand. His lifeless gaze frightened her sometimes. 


	9. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:33 Dragon, almost one year after the masquerade, Mia finds Morrigan in Ferelden and reunites with Alistair. She returns to Antiva, but it feels different now.

“I will never understand you. And you will never understand me,” said Morrigan. 

Mia clenched her fist at the comment and took a deep breath to calm herself. “So that’s it? All this way for nothing?” 

She had been traipsing across Ferelden for weeks trying to find Morrigan, running from town to town just to piece together the rumours. The only productive event of her entire excursion from Antiva was a brief check-in at Vigil’s Keep, which she only did to stop the seneschal bothering her with letters that Alistair rarely remembered to forward. 

She was starting to wonder why she even bothered to find Morrigan, when the elusive witch evidently wanted to be forgotten. 

“The ritual was but a means to an end, a herald for what is to come.” 

_What now?_ Mia thought. Every waking moment she was acutely aware of her Warden blood, and she hated it. The only thing she wanted was to be back in Antiva with Zevran, with no more fretting over darkspawn or Grey Wardens or speaking in riddles with the Witch of the Wilds. Yet Morrigan was more like her mother than she liked to admit. The only answer Mia could get out of her that evening was vague and sounded as if it were recited from a storybook. In spite of the riddles, Mia could tell that Morrigan was frightened of Flemeth – frightened of what was to come. 

“... many fear change and will fight it with every fibre of their being. But sometimes change is what they need most. _Sometimes change is what sets them free._ ” 

“What do you want then? To be free?” Mia asked. 

“What I want is-” Morrigan paused, and a sudden sadness lingered in the air. “-is unimportant now.” 

The purple eluvian towered above them, its glass like the murky waters of a lake at dusk, only Mia knew it was far darker and more oppressive than that. The eluvian she discovered all those years ago changed everything, and not all for the better: it took Tamlen from her; forced her out of her clan; forced her to become a Warden. Its only saving grace was pushing her to end the Blight and leading her to people she would not have met otherwise. It brought her to Zevran. 

As she watched the lilac static crack around the mirror, she began to feel uneasy, though she knew there was no stopping Morrigan once she had her mind set on something. 

Mia followed her old friend up the steps and lay a hand on her arm. There was so much Mia wanted to say, she was sure of it, but her mind was blank and her throat felt tight. 

The witch frowned and looked at her feet. For a split second, Mia thought she saw a tear in her eye – instead, she looked up and placed a gentle hand on Mia’s. 

“Goodbye, my friend,” said Morrigan. The witch then turned towards the purple expanse and, after one last glance behind her, she was gone. 

If the meeting with Morrigan had been for nothing, Mia was certainly not going to end her trip without a drunken reunion with Alistair. 

“Maker. I’ve missed you.” He had not laughed this much in years. 

He had all the drink in the world and all the rooms to drink them in, but nothing compared to a night at the Gnawed Noble. 

“I’ve missed you too,” said Mia. It had been too long. Far too long. 

The king that sat before her was vastly different to the man she met at Ostagar. He was stronger, wiser – he had the confidence of a king, yet was humble in ways not many kings were. The country was in good shape and his subjects generally respected him – it was truly the blessing Ferelden needed to repair the damage the Blight had done. 

All this change, and yet when they drank together it was just like they were back in the camp, getting drunk and laughing till their insides hurt. 

“I wish you were here sometimes, you know,” he said. 

It hurt her to hear him say that, somehow. “I wish I could have stayed. It would have been so much easier.” 

“Is it that bad in Antiva?” 

“I don’t regret it. It’s just…” she trailed off, staring off into the distance as she swirled the ale around her cup. “I just…” 

Alistair knew she was terrible at opening up. Fortunately, he was rather good at reading her mind. “I heard Zevran has been quite busy.” 

“He has.” Mia turned to Alistair with a pained expression. “Every time I return to him in Antiva, I never know what I’m going to find. I don’t know if I’ll have a home to return to, whether I’ll be hunted at the docks, or whether I’ll be greeted by a messenger that tells me he’s dead. Everyone wants him dead. Even himself.” 

“That’s-… that’s awful. I wish there was something I could do. It’s just out of my jurisdiction,” he said. Alistair sent Mia anything he had that would be helpful to Zevran. Secrets from the Antivan ambassador, invitations, rumours – anything. 

“I know you’re trying, and I really appreciate it. At the end of the day it’s Zev’s fight. We can only help him so much.” 

“But are you happy?” he said. “Being in Antiva with Zevran.” 

The question took Mia aback. She did not like being confronted with the very thing she was avoiding asking herself. “Would it be weird to say that I almost miss the Blight?” 

“Not at all. I know exactly what you mean. I know I joked about it bringing everyone together but… it really did. Now life just seems so…” 

“Surprisingly complicated?” 

Alistair chuckled. “Yeah, that.” 

They sat with that thought for some time, thinking to themselves how wonderful it would be to have a simple life for once. 

“But to answer your question, it’s not always miserable in Antiva. I love Zev, unfortunately, and that means I have to stay.” She let out a heavy sigh and began to bounce her leg anxiously. “I just feel so lonely, that’s all.” 

Alistair was relieved to hear her finally speak her mind. “I suspected as much. I feel the same, if that’s any consolation. Being a king is surprisingly lonely sometimes.” 

“I miss Leliana. I miss Morrigan. I miss Oghren and our stupid chats. I miss getting drunk and jumping into Lake Calenhad with you.” 

Alistair nearly spat out his beer when reminded of that event. He chuckled to himself and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “We probably could have drowned now that I think about it. Bad idea. Very bad idea.” 

“Well, we’re here,” she said, raising her pint in celebration. “Why does everyone have to be on opposite ends of the bloody continent? I don’t even know where Morrigan went.” 

“Do you even want to know?” 

“No. And only the gods can say where your child is now.” 

Alistair downed the rest of his drink. He hated being reminded of his fatherhood, and hated thinking about what his child would become. “Don’t remind me.”

“I have to. I still feel bad about it, like I made the wrong decision.” 

“Hey, it was _our_ decision. I agreed to it.” 

“Yes, but I pressured you. And I pressured you because I was desperate. Zev had just told me he loved me, you were supposed to be king, and then Morrigan comes to me with an offer too good to refuse. It was selfish of me.” 

“Do you trust Morrigan?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then that’s enough for me,” said Alistair. “We wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise, and I’m not about to pretend I feel bad about that.” 

Mia smiled and picked up her empty tankard. “Another round, your highness?” 

“Why yes, Arlessa. You’ve read my mind.” 

“At your service,” she said, standing up to lower herself into a bow that was almost a mockery of his status. If it was anyone else, he would have been quite angry. But it was Mia Mahariel, and he had truly missed her. 

When the shadow of Antiva City emerged on the horizon weeks later, Mia felt nothing but dread. Almost a year had passed since the masquerade: spring brought them stability; summer brought them long nights and too much drink. By autumn, Zevran was back to killing again, returning home each night to wash someone else’s blood from his skin. Sometimes Mia would help him, and sometimes he preferred to go alone. It was not easy for her, not knowing who he was going to kill next, or whether he would simply walk off into the night and never return. Just like her mother had. 

The city could be seen from miles away, a dark outline of cliffs and towers that spiralled up the hills, their bells echoing across the bay like a warning call. _This is where he will die,_ they told her. 

It was a clear, cold morning when the ship pulled into the bay. Sailing no longer bothered her; she could almost say she enjoyed it. With the breeze in her hair and the waves rolling beneath her, she felt truly free, like she had every inch of the world at her fingertips. 

But when the ship thudded against the jetty, she was faced with the city of Crows. 

She put on her hood, as usual, and hauled her belongings as quickly as she could to the first carriage driver she saw. 

She gave her request in Antivan, and as usual, was answered in common tongue. 

“One andris,” said the man, not even bothering to look at her. 

“Is my accent that bad? I could get to Treviso for less than that.” She threw him a bag of silvers instead. 

The man looked inside the pouch and sighed. “Fine. Get in.” 

She threw her bags into the back and hopped in. This happened more than she liked to admit, and she was tired of it. It was precisely why she let Zevran do most of the talking whenever they were out in public. 

The carriage rattled down the dusty road towards the outskirts of the city and along the bumpy path to the place she called home, at least for now. 

“You’re from Ferelden, I take it?” he asked once the city was behind them. 

“Yes,” said Mia. She was not one for small talk. 

“Visiting a friend?” 

“You ask a lot of questions.” 

“I’m just curious,” he said as they passed a familiar collection of olive trees. “There aren’t many people like you out here.” 

“No foreigners, you mean.” 

The driver looked back at her and studied her shadowed face. “Yes. Most travellers stay in the city – there's not much for anyone out here.” 

“Well, I’m not the average person.” Mia turned away to stare at the hills, hoping the man would be quiet. 

“Oh? How so?” he said, grinning at her from the shadows of his own hood. 

Mia let out a sharp sigh as if to warn him. “Can we talk about something else? I’ve had a long journey and I’m not in the mood to tell you my life story.” 

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the road, which was heading towards the small settlement in the distance. Despite Mia’s warning, he was unable to stay silent for long. “Which house am I heading for then?” 

“You can drop me outside the town. I’ll find my own way from there.” She pulled her hood down further. The road was completely empty, yet she felt strangely paranoid. 

The man laughed. “Oh, how very secretive. Now I am truly curious.” 

“I’m tired of this. Can you please shut up?” Mia said. 

It became clear to the man that he was not going to get anything out of her, so he gave up skirting the topic and got straight to the point. “I hear the Hero of Ferelden has been visiting Antiva City, you know.” 

Mia felt her body tense up. “Well, good for her.” 

“She was due to arrive today, on a ship with a little red flower on its side.” 

Metal hissed as Mia drew her knives, and the cart stopped so abruptly that she almost fell off the back of it. She had no idea who could have tipped off the Crows, but it was the last thing she needed. The only thing that made her feel better about the situation was that they were clearly still trying to find out where she lived. 

“Who sent you?” she demanded, pointing a knife at him. 

The driver no longer wore his hood, and now wielded a small blade of his own. 

“Someone who is tired of your games,” he said, leaping over the seat of the carriage and coming to stand with her on the cart. “Where is Zevran?” 

“You think I’d tell you that?” 

“Have it your way then,” he said. The Crow slashed against her knives without mercy, trying to disarm her. Mia managed to parry him four times before falling for his feint and losing her grip. The young man grabbed her and pushed her to the floor of the cart, flinging his knives to the side and attempting to choke her out. 

“Get off me! Can we... at least talk first?” she said, trying to wrestle his hands off her neck. 

“You save your negotiations for Velabanchel.” 

There was no way Mia was going to Velabanchel without a fight after everything Zevran had told her about it. Death was preferable to experiencing the horrors of that place. Unable to win against his strength, Mia kneed him hard in the balls and threw him off her. 

Having already assessed the man’s strength and skill, Mia knew it would be a fight far too risky to engage in. With that in mind, she kicked down him as hard as she could and jumped off the cart, leaving her belongings behind and running towards the town like a coward. 

She heard the assassin groan, though he was not floored for long. She could hear his footsteps racing behind her, so she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. All she needed to do was get close enough to the town for people to see what was happening, so that someone could help her. Zevran was so close now; if she could just get to him, everything would be fine. 

Mia usually ran faster than most. Her physical strength had its limitations, and her stealth still needed some work, but she was confident in her agility, having won most duels through speed alone. 

It was unfortunate that the assassin was as fast as he was strong. 

He caught up with her in no time, throwing his entire body weight down upon her and knocking the air out of her with its force. 

“I think you need something a little stronger, hmm?” he said, forcing the contents of a vial into her mouth in the struggle that followed. The poison worked fast. Her limbs soon felt as though they were made of stone, and she could barely hear a thing. All she could do was lie there as the assassin bundled her up in his arms and carried her back to the carriage. He smiled down at her, watching carefully for her reaction to the drug so that he could make sure she kept breathing. Nobody saw, and nobody came to help her. She thought of Zevran. They had no plan for this, nothing at all. 

All she could do was surrender to the poison.


	10. Velabanchel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran finds out what happens to Mia and infiltrates Velabanchel, with a little help from an old friend.

It was a week before Zevran discovered what became of his fiancé, why she never returned to him. 

One afternoon, Zevran stopped by the chanter’s board on the way back from the market to see if there was anything worth his time. It was filled with trivial issues: missing children; requests for herbs; wolves that needed culling. He had been about to leave when the small, crumpled note in the corner caught his eye. It was so discreet he had almost missed it. It was addressed to ‘Z’, and signed with a mark the Crows often used to send each other messages, one that Zevran recognised instantly. 

_We have her,_ it said, and there was no doubt in his mind that this was true. The realisation alone almost made him drop his groceries. The final letter Mia had sent to him before embarking from Denerim told him when she expected to be back in Antiva. She usually stuck to her schedules, so her absence was odd. He initially thought she might have delayed her return, or come into problems at sea, but when days turned into weeks, he began to wonder whether a letter to Alistair might be appropriate. There was no easy way of contacting her at sea, after all. 

Now it all made sense to him, in the worst way he could possibly imagine. 

He snatched the note from the board and sprinted back to his house so fast that he dropped a bag of apples in the panic. Someone called after him, but food was the last of his concerns now. 

When he got home, he tossed the basket onto the table, geared himself up, and left for the city at once. Leaving via carriage or the main road was not an option, since he knew the Crows were watching. The fact they had been to the chanter’s board not a few houses down from his own was enough to make his hair stand on end. 

As he took the long road on foot, he cursed himself over and over, blaming himself and spiralling into self-hatred. If the situation was not so urgent, he might have been a danger to himself, though he remembered what the Crows had taught him. _Feelings are a liability, Zevran_ , they always said. And in this case, they were right. 

The brisk walk to the city did wonders for his nerves, and gave him time to plan. The risk to his own life would be high, but they had left him no choice. 

By the time he reached the city, his anxiety had been replaced with a calm, coordinated rage, the sort that sharpened the senses and allowed for unspeakable actions. He did not think it possible to hate the Crows any more than he already did. And yet. 

When he arrived at his friend’s house, the man opened the hatch and his face fell. Several iron bolts needed to be removed before Gio could open the door; he was a man of many enemies. The scar on his face could tell anyone that much. 

“You have some nerve coming here,” he said, ushering Zevran inside. “I take it you got out of the Perfumed Spring.” 

“I did, and I owe you for that,” Zevran said, knowing he was about to owe the man a great deal more. 

Gio could tell when Zevran was about to ask him something. He was used to it. His history of bailing Zevran out of things spanned nearly a decade, though he never once refused to help. He owed Zevran for his life, after all. “What have you done now?” 

“I need you to get me into Velabanchel,” said Zevran. 

For a moment Gio thought it was a terrible joke, but Zevran’s expression remained unchanged. 

“I swear to the fucking Maker, Zev.” 

“I’m desperate.” 

The man was a mercenary, a smuggler, a thief, a spy – if there was anyone to ask for help with a crime, Gio was the one. People feared him even in the slums of the city, and everyone knew him by a different name. Zevran used to say he should have been a Crow, though the thought only made Gio laugh. He valued his freedom. 

Gio pushed back his thick, brown curls and sighed. “It’s the Warden, isn’t it.” Zevran thought he would have made a handsome man if it were not for the scar. 

“They took her,” said Zevran. He watched Gio approach the only window in his tiny apartment and stare at the impenetrable fortress, which could be seen even from here. 

“Just leave her,” Gio said. “They’ll have to release her eventually. Surely ransoming her to Ferelden will be worth more to them than luring you there. They can always come for you later.” 

Zevran joined him at the window and watched the waves crash against the cliffs that surrounded the prison. “You don’t know the Crows like I do.” 

The door slammed open at noon, as routine dictated. Its sound reverberated throughout the cold, stone room and jolted Mia awake. She had been conditioned to associate the sound with pain. 

Pain that she thought she would be used to by now. 

“Get up.” 

Mia tried to get up but her feet were completely numb with cold. She crawled towards the chair obediently, shivering and wincing from yesterday’s wounds. 

The man placed a bag of tools on the table and pulled up a chair in front of her. 

“Where is Zevran Arainai?” he asked politely. He always began politely. 

She was unsure if she could bear another session. Every day she weighed up her options, wondering whether the silence was worth it, yet every time she thought of Zevran she found herself refusing their demands once again. 

The man tutted to himself and began to rummage through his torture devices as if deciding what to have for dinner. “How about we start off easy?” He pulled out a rusty thumbscrew. 

“Please,” Mia begged. 

“Please what?” he said, placing her thumbs inside the device. Some of the other Crows had gathered at the door to watch, clearly in need of some entertainment. “We’re going to find him eventually, even if we have to search every house in the country.” 

“And what if I tell you and he’s not there?” she cried. “What can I do for you then? Are you just going to let me rot here?” 

The Crows in the doorway laughed. 

“You will stay here until he comes to us,” said the torturer. He turned the screws until Mia let out her first cry. “Just tell us. It’s not so difficult! We’ve told him where you are, and he hasn’t shown his face. You’re deluded if you think he loves you that much. He’s been trained to put his feelings last.” 

“You’re wrong.” 

“Am I?” he said, tightening the screw further. “Then where is he?” 

The ‘house of graves’, as some liked to call it, was one of the most defensible fortresses in Thedas. Its outer walls were impressive structures in themselves, snaking along the cliffs with wide walkways and gatehouses that could see all who dared approach. Even without its walls, Velabanchel was near impossible to get to. It sat atop a steep, rocky island in the bay, surrounded by waters cold enough to kill a man at this time of year. The Crows would access it via the long bridge that connected it to the mainland, and even then, there were several checkpoints to pass through before reaching the entrance. 

“It’s fucking freezing,” said Gio, seemingly to himself. 

He was a smuggler today, making his usual rounds to Velabanchel with a crate of illegally imported goods. It would be no surprise to anyone that the Crows thought themselves above the law. They would buy all manner of things, from poisons and illicit substances, to exotic food and drink, and more often than not, Gio found them to be reliable customers. 

The waves crashed below him as he dragged the crate along the bridge with a small handcart. When he reached the first gate, the guardsmen recognised his face. 

“Thought you were expected next week?” They trusted Gio, but had to take records of all who passed through for security. It was their way. 

“Do you want the rum or not? My men aren’t going to Rivain again till summer,” he said, setting down the cart handles to stretch his shoulders. “You should’ve known I was coming today. Messed up on the ledger again?” 

The guards looked at each other, then looked back at Gio – he did not take kindly to being messed around, and they knew this. 

A guard brought the ledger out from the gatehouse and shrugged. “It says next week here.” 

“You know the commander won’t buy it for you taxed. Whatever, I’ll go sell it downtown.” Gio picked up the cart again as if to leave, but as soon as he turned away, he heard the sound of the thick, iron portcullis sliding open. 

He grinned and pulled the wagon through the arch. “That’s what I thought.” 

The final stretch of bridge was long enough for Gio to continue rambling to himself without anyone thinking he had gone insane. 

He kicked back at the crate he was pulling. “Hope you’re not dead in there.” 

Zevran coughed to reassure him, but said nothing. It had been at least an hour since Gio nailed the crate shut; Zevran’s limbs were contorted and aching, though his flexibility surprised him. It was lucky he wasn't claustrophobic. 

The entrance to the prison was much more crowded. Crows passed them in all directions: some worked as guards, some were assassins delivering messages or captives, and some were full-time torturers. A grand hallway greeted them, dark and damp, but lit with a dozen braziers in an attempt to thaw out the chill. Many outsiders assumed the rooms of the fortress were bland and depressing. But the Crows tried their best to furnish the areas they visited frequently. Gio wheeled the cart through a maze of corridors, past the kitchens and the guardrooms, then down a ramp that led to a musty storeroom. There were so many stacks of crates and barrels here, one could barely see the walls. 

Gio unloaded the crate onto the floor, and all Zevran could hear for the next few minutes was silence. It almost made him jump when the crate was prised open. 

“Get out. Quickly.” 

Zevran grabbed Gio’s hand and clambered out of the crate, wincing as he straightened out his seized-up body. “You were right about the cold.” 

“You better be sure about this. And I hope she’s worth it,” said Gio. “No offense.” 

“This isn’t only about my feelings, G. You can think what you like, but I need her for the cause.” Zevran was wearing a thick hood, though this was only a precaution – his intention was to remain unseen, if he could help it. “Besides, this is the Hero of Ferelden we’re talking about, not some girl I met at the Spring. She saved us from the Blight – the least I can do is save _her_.” 

It meant nothing to Gio; he had never met her. “If you get yourself stuck here, I'm not coming back for you. Remember that.” 

It was not meant as a threat, more a warning, though something about the way he said it made Zevran sad. “I know,” he said, and watched him turn to leave. 

When Gio reached the shadow of the corridor, he stopped, still and silent, then turned back to Zevran with a resigned look on his face. 

“What is it?” Zevran asked. 

Gio nodded in the direction of the corridor, beckoning him. “Fuck it. Let’s do this together.” 

“No, I can’t let you-” 

“Just get over here before I change my mind. You’ll get yourself killed otherwise. Let’s get it done and get out of here.” 

“Well, thank you for your faith in me,” Zevran scoffed. 

The corridor they snuck into was empty, save the odd person passing through at the end. All they needed to do was get to the stairs that ran off the corridor around the corner. They kept to the wall, edging as fast as they could towards the first intersection. Gio let Zevran lead, given that he knew the inside much better than he. 

With their backs against the wall, Zevran took a look round the corner to check it was clear, then signalled for Gio to follow. The staircase led them up at least three floors before they came out into the next corridor. 

A guard was patrolling there, but Zevran took him out from behind without making a noise. He did not intend to kill anyone today, if he could help it. An unconscious guard was much less conspicuous than a dead one. 

They were alone in the corridor after that, save the prisoners who cried out for help when they saw them. 

“Maker, there must be hundreds of cells in here,” Gio said, kicking a cell door to silence a screaming prisoner. “We better not be searching all of them.” 

“This way.” Zevran led them to the end of the row, where an iron gate separated the hallway from another long row of cells. It was locked, so Zevran pulled a number of different shaped picks from his belt pouch, although none of them seemed to do the job. 

Gio laughed. “I see you're still shit at lockpicking.” 

Instead of rising to the obvious bait, Zevran ignored him and slid his hand through the bars once again. There was an awkward silence and clinking of metal - then a snap. 

Gio tried his best not to laugh this time, but failed. “What are your picks made out of? Wood?” 

“Fine then,” Zevran spat, thrusting the tools at him. “You do it.” 

The smuggler took the picks and slid one into the lock, grinning at Zevran the entire time just to annoy him. It did not take long for the lock to give way. 

The gate swung open with a rusty creak, though Zevran refused to look at Gio while he had such a smug look on his face. 

The guards along the way were few and far between, so it was easy enough to take them out without a fuss. Zevran was searching for a very specific area of the prison: a place they kept prisoners they were actively interrogating. Most of the cells they had passed so far contained people who had long been forgotten, with no hope of ever leaving. The cells seemed to wind on forever, along stairwells that echoed with distant screams and halls that smelled like excrement. 

When they found the source of the screams, they knew they had reached the right area. The entrance to the torturers’ quarter was a large, open archway with two large braziers stood either side of it – deliberately distinct from the rest of the prison, as if to announce to any visitors that they were receiving special attention. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to enter without risking alerting someone. There was no other way in, and there were no corners to hide around before entering. The only way they could see inside the entrance room was to simply enter. 

“Can I help you?” said a very muscular woman when they entered. An elf, a qunari, and some form of mage were sat next to her at a table, quite irritated that their game of cards had been interrupted. 

The qunari squinted in the lantern-light to get a better look at them. “Is that the smuggler?” he said. Zevran kept his head down. 

“It might be,” said Gio. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

Gio grinned and slapped Zevran on the back. “I’m just taking my friend for a tour. The commander said I could have a look around.” 

“We don’t do tours,” the woman said bluntly, yanking a knife out of the table. “Consider this one over.” 

The chairs screeched against the floor as the others stood up and everyone drew their weapons. The woman, who they assumed was the current chamber manager, started towards them with her knife, but was floored with a crossbow bolt to the face. Everyone grimaced at the resulting sight – she was definitely dead, but the twitching disturbed them. 

“Anyone else?” said Gio, reloading the crossbow he had swung round from his back. 

“Get the commander!” 

As the elven torturer sprinted for the door on the other side of the room, Zevran started after him with his knives, jumping over the table and sending cards flying in all directions. 

The other two went straight for Gio, making sure to dodge his next bolt. “You’re going to regret this!” 

Fortunately, Zevran reached the elf before he got to the door, seizing his head and slamming it several times into the doorframe. The elf twisted around with a face covered in gore, then smacked Zevran hard in the face. Zevran staggered over onto a rack, though was able to duck under his next blow, coming behind the elf to grab his hair and slit his throat. 

In the meantime, Gio was busy with the others. He was used to fights like this, though they were rarely with Crows, and not in the middle of a torture chamber. Despite the grin he flashed Zevran as he slashed a man across the face, he was subsequently cut to the floor with a sword that left a gash in his sleeve. 

“Ah, well done!” said Zevran, leaping onto the stacks of crates that bordered one side of the room. “He was getting a little arrogant.” 

“I’m not done yet,” Gio hissed. He rolled away from the sword that came clashing against the floor beside him, and got back up. 

The qunari raised his sword again. “Lucky.” 

Gio had readied his own sword by that point, but instead found himself having to dodge Zevran, who came swinging through the air on the chains that dangled from the ceiling. The chain swung with such momentum that Zevran’s kick sent the enormous qunari hurtling backwards into the table. 

“Okay, now that was excessive,” Gio said. 

“If you say so,” said Zevran. He wrestled the qunari on the table as Gio duelled the mage. Fortunately, they both succeeded. 

“So much for no casualties.” 

They wished they could say the room was quiet then. Screams and shouts echoed from all three doorways that led on from the entrance, making it clear that this was only the beginning. The room smelled like rot and dried blood, so they felt a strong urge to move on, though they did not know through which door. 

“You haven’t thought this through, have you?” 

Zevran wiped his hands on his coat and ignored him. 

“You assassins are ridiculous,” said Gio. 

“I’m retired, actually.” 

The smuggler turned over a body with his foot. “Yeah, it really looks that way.” 

In the end, Zevran decided it would be best to turn left and search the holding cells, since there were only a couple of guards patrolling that area. 

Not all the cells here held prisoners. Only those the Crows needed to interrogate or punish were allowed to stay in this part of the prison. Whenever the cells were empty, they filled them with just about anyone just so they had something to do. 

Zevran darted between the cells, peering through the bars into the darkness. “Mia?” he would call, over and over. 

“She’s a lucky woman, having someone like you to save her. I don’t know anyone that’s managed to escape here.” 

“She has saved me more than you know.” 

After all the cells were searched to no avail, they returned to the entryway and peered through the window of the second door. It was a sizeable hall filled with horrors no-one should ever see. Gio did not even know what he was looking at – some of the prisoners were gored so beyond belief that he could hardly believe they were still alive. Across the room, at least ten Crows were stood around a prisoner suspended by his ankles. One of them was laughing as they flayed the poor man. It was not a pretty sight. 

Neither of them could spot Mia, so they moved to the final door. Through the window they saw a smaller set of closed off rooms, some of which were occupied. When they crept into the corridor, they could hear several interrogations in progress, but none sounded like they were meant for Mia. 

It was only when they reached the end of the corridor that they heard it. 

“I gave you two hours to consider your stance, Warden. _Where is he_?” 

There was a brief silence, then they heard her cry out in pain. Zevran knew at once that it was her, and his heart sank. 

None of the doors in this corridor had windows, so they could only listen for how many people were inside. It was unfortunate that so many Crows were interested in the Hero of Ferelden’s case. It was certainly an unusual one. 

“Stop!” she cried. Her voice sounded hoarse. “I said I’m not going to tell you! Just put me back in my cell. Please-” 

Then she screamed louder than Zevran had ever heard her scream. It sounded as if she was struggling against something, coughing and trying to catch her breath. Gio looked at Zevran for direction. He could tell Zevran knew the smarter decision would be to hold back, to hide until she was returned to her cell, but the assassin had murder in his eyes. 

No matter how many times Zevran told himself not to let his emotions get the better of him, he felt utterly crushed by what he was hearing. He could not understand what was wrong with him; he had tortured people before. 

And so, this was why the Crows were so strict about love. He now understood the sentiment more than ever. 

“ _Where is he_?” There was another pause, and then more screaming. The witnesses began to laugh. 

He felt a sudden rage well up inside him; his heart was pounding and his breaths were ragged. Gio noticed this and tried to calm him, but it was no use. 

The errant Crow that everyone was talking about kicked the door wide open, brandishing his pair of bloodstained knives, and pulling back his hood. 

“Here I am,” he said with a grin. 

They counted six Crows in the large, empty room. Mia was tied by her arms to a post in the ceiling, bruised and bleeding from a gash in her cheek. It was difficult to recognise her, given the state she was in. When she saw Zevran she looked more horrified than relieved. 

“That’s him!” one of the assassins cried. The torturer turned away from Mia and picked up a butcher’s knife. 

The chaos began in an instant; a clash of steel and panic as they tried to capture the assassin. The fact they wanted him alive worked somewhat to Zevran’s advantage, since none of their blows had lethal intent. For all his mockery of Zevran, Gio thought he put up an impressive fight. He duelled alongside Zevran to the best of his ability, watching in awe as the Araini outlaw dodged between the attacks, threw people into the wall, slashed and stabbed and broke a man's neck. There was a bloodlust in his eyes that Gio had not seen for a very long time – it surprised him. He thought perhaps the old Zevran was finally back. 

By the end of the fight they were panting, covered from head to toe in blood and sweat. It was a wonder they managed to take on so many Crows at once. After regaining their composure, they looked at each other and laughed. 

“Not bad, Araini.” 

“Why, thank you,” said Zevran. “It’s nice to finally be appreciated.” 

The rope that fastened Mia’s arms behind her back was specifically designed to dislocate the shoulders, and Zevran knew how awful that could be since he had experienced it himself. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” Mia said, wincing at the strain her shoulders were under. Fortunately, she had not been in the device for too long. 

“Well, I did warn him.” Gio stepped up on the chair to cut her down and Zevran positioned himself to catch her. 

Zevran took hold of her legs as Gio sawed at the rope. It came free, and she fell into his arms. “ _Strappado._ It’s a terrible thing. Can you move your arms?” 

She rolled her shoulders and winced. “ _Fenedhis_ _,_ ” she cursed. “I need some elfroot.” 

When he examined her, he could feel a familiar guilt wash over him again. He would never forgive himself. “I’m-... I’m so sorry, Mia. This is all my fault.” Zevran’s voice cracked as he said it. For a moment, he simply held her in his arms, trying to catch her gaze. There was nothing he could have said to ease her pain. 

He brought Mia’s face up to look at him, but it was devoid of any emotion. He knew then that she was forever changed, and it tore his heart into a thousand pieces. 

Yet the voices in the corridor shook him from his thoughts. 

“Think we’ve got trouble,” said Gio, who was stood in the doorway. 

Someone had heard the commotion – Crows were beginning to gather in the hallway, breaking into a sprint as soon as they saw the bodies. 

“The door!” Mia cried, kicking the chair towards Gio. 

He understood, slamming the door shut before the Crows could get in, then holding it back with his weight to fix the chair beneath the handle. A large group of assassins gathered on the other side, ramming the door so hard that Mia and Zevran had to lean against it too. 

Mia stood in-between Zevran and his friend, cursing and pushing herself against the force. “Did you have a plan for this part?” she said. 

“No, but I have an idea,” said Zevran, pulling a grenade from his potion belt. 

“Are you crazy?” said Gio. “That’ll kill us!” 

“Not if he throws it right. Besides, I can’t see another option,” said Mia. The door was giving way; she could hear the wood splintering behind her so she was willing to take the risk. 

“When I say three, we run to the door, yes?” Zevran said. 

Gio nodded. 

“Okay. One... two...” Zevran lit the wick in torch on the wall and smiled. 

He loved Antivan Fire. 

“ _Three_!” 

They sprinted to the back of the room, the Crows falling through the door into a heap. Zevran waited a few seconds for the spark, then threw the grenade just ahead of the doorway. Sticky fire ignited the door and everything in its vicinity. 

“The window. Now!” Mia shouted, her voice barely audible above the flames and the screams of burning Crows. 

Without hesitation, Gio grabbed the remains of the rope that had been used to suspend Mia, then tested it was still secured against the pole. He had another roll of rope attached to his belt, long enough to descend the building, so he tied it as fast as he could to the other, and threw it out of the window. 

Given the state of Mia’s arms, there was no way she was going to be able to hold onto the rope, so Zevran hoisted her up onto his back, and followed Gio’s descent with her legs wrapped as tightly around him as possible. 

They left the room smoking behind them, relieved to be out of there, though knowing the worst was ahead. 

When their feet found the narrow, rocky ledge below, they realised there was nowhere to go but the sea. 

“It’s our only option,” said Gio, preparing for the plunge. 

Zevran looked at him as if he was insane. “You have to be joking. We’ll die within minutes! How will Mia swim like this?” 

Gio would have stayed for negotiations, if it were not for the belltower sounding its alarm behind them. He simply shook his head at them and jumped. 

“We’ve got to do it, Zev,” said Mia, still clinging to Zevran’s back. “The rope's run out; we’ve got to jump.” 

He stared in horror as Gio hit the water below. It was a long drop. 

“Well, I hope your gods are feeling kind today,” he said, and followed.


	11. Rum and Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia, Zevran, and Gio escape Velabanchel. They end their day with a much needed bath, a lot of rum, and some Wicked Grace.

The sea was as freezing as it was fierce. 

Each of them struggled against the tides, fighting desperately for the surface, wondering how they would ever survive the swim to the mainland. They had jumped as straight as possible to survive the jump, yet the impact tore Mia from Zevran’s back. If he had not swum back down to grab her arm, she might never have come back up. 

The weight of their clothes was pulling them down, and no matter how hard they kicked, they felt as though the ocean was sucking them down into the murky depths, beckoning them into the abyss. 

Mia wanted Zevran to let go, to save himself before they both drowned, but instead he fought against the waves, pulling and kicking with all his might and refusing to give in. The saltwater stung their eyes, and they were thrown around with such force that it was difficult to know which way was up and which was down. Deeper and deeper they went, down towards the depths of Rialto Bay. With every twist and turn it became harder for them to hold their breath. When a cloud of bubbles burst from Mia’s mouth, she thought it was surely the end. Drowning frightened her more than any other form of death. And when she realised Zevran was no longer there, she began to panic. Her chest felt as though it was about to burst. She flailed her legs and tore through the sprain in her shoulders, kicking and twisting and searching for something to hold onto. 

But then she could hold her breath no longer. All her mouth could taste was salt and seaweed, so she closed her eyes and waited for death to come. 

To her surprise, when she opened her eyes a few moments later, she could see the sky through the water and the silhouette of Zevran. They clung together for dear life when she broke the surface, both coughing and spluttering and riding the wave towards the rocks. 

The current propelled them towards a rocky plateau at the base of the island, where Gio was already doubled over coughing up his guts. 

“This... is the _last_ time I help you,” he panted once the elves were washed ashore. 

They spent a good few minutes catching their breath and coughing up seawater, wondering what they were going to do next. There was no way around the base of the island, and attempting to climb would have gotten them killed. 

“Nice to meet you, by the way,” Mia said eventually, shivering in her underclothes. “I’m Mia.” 

“Likewise. You can call me G.” 

The alarm bells from Velabanchel echoed across the bay, summoning Crows to investigate the incident and sending guards to the outer walls. 

Zevran brushed a piece of seaweed from his face and peered up at the fortress. “They won’t have a clear view of us here, but swimming might get us shot. I suggest we wait for nightfall and carry on our way, hmm? The slack tide will make things easier.” 

_And freeze to death on this rock?_ Gio thought, looking askance at the already freezing Mia. “Seems like it’s our only option. What do you think, Warden?” 

She looked as if she were only an inch from death. The saltwater was inside her wounds and her body stung all over, however she was determined to see the day through. “I’m not dying here today, and I’m not dying because of the bloody Crows. They’re going to be sorry they ever took me.” 

It was not something Zevran ever expected to hear her say. For once, it seemed she hated them as much as he, and it made him feel less alone somehow. There was never any doubt in his mind that Mia understood his hatred for them, though he knew she had not seen how cruel they could truly be. Not until now. 

The promise of vengeance excited him. 

The unlikely trio huddled against the cliff until sundown, trying to warm each other as best they could. It was an agonising wait, and nightfall could not have come sooner. The slack tide brought a relative stillness to the water that made swimming far less intimidating, despite the risk. With a little luck, they managed to brave the swim to the mainland, and this time not fighting against such an aggressive current. Mia’s arms were in agony but she swam unassisted, albeit under the watchful eye of Zevran, who made sure to swim close by. 

The streets of Antiva were so warm in comparison that they almost forgot it was winter. They received many strange looks as they rushed back to Gio’s apartment, especially given Mia’s sackcloth outfit and bare feet. The fact they were all soaking wet did not help either. 

By the time they reached the safety of Gio’s home, Mia's feet were covered in so much detritus they had to run her a bath, and a warm one at that. The smuggler bolted the door and his one tiny window, changed into some dry clothes, and began to pry open the crate of rum that was originally destined for Velabanchel. Trying to deliver it now would get him shot at the gate, so he intended to enjoy at least some for himself before peddling the rest elsewhere. And nothing was sweeter than the rum of Rivain. 

“Ahh, I’ve missed this,” said Zevran, clinking his glass with Gio’s and sampling the spicy blend. They watched the fire crack beneath the cauldron, inside of which bubbled a stew that filled the room with a comforting scent. 

“It’s not bad.” Gio sat back in his chair and held the glass up to the firelight, observing its colour. “Lucky. You’re the only Crow that’s getting any now.” 

“Oh, you still think I am a Crow after today? I’m a free citizen.” 

“I think they’d beg to differ.” 

The fire licked at Zevran’s fingertips as he warmed his hand. “That is precisely why I’ve been going after them. I don’t know if you have noticed but-” 

“Pah! I've noticed alright. Half the damned city now knows your name. It’s all I’ve been hearing about for the past two years. You and the Hero of bloody Ferelden, running around the city bringing death to anyone who looks in your direction.” 

“Now, now. That sounds like Crow propaganda if ever I heard it. I don’t kill nearly as many as you think... only the ones who annoy me.” 

“Go on then, how many?” 

Zevran glanced at the ceiling as if trying to count, then turned back to Gio with a frustrated sigh. “Look, I don’t keep count. Can you say how many _you_ have killed, hm?” 

“That’s not the point. I wouldn’t touch the Crows with a ten-foot pole even if you paid me. They run this country, and I’m much better off for avoiding them. You should do the same.” 

“They are trying to kill me.” 

“Yeah? And how many people do you think are trying to kill _me_? Just keep your wits about you and carry on.” Gio tried to catch Zevran’s eye but he was frowning at the fire, unwilling to accept the suggestion. “It’s more than that though, isn’t it? You’re not doing it because you want them off your back - you want justice.” 

“This country needs to learn its lesson.” The assassin downed the rest of his rum and folded his arms. “And I don’t want to have to live with five hundred bolts on my door.” 

Gio rolled his eyes and topped up their glasses. “Look, the Crows piss me off as much as the next person, but I’m-” 

“Willing to live in fear?” 

“I’m not living in fear.” 

“Okay,” said Zevran, quirking a brow at the impressive security system. “If you say so.” 

“Listen, I’m a criminal. I didn’t install all that shit because of the Crows, I did it because I don’t want to get murdered in my sleep for breaking the law or pissing off someone’s family.” 

“And would you do what you do if the Crows never existed?” 

The question left Gio silent. He turned to the fire, the large scar on his face obscuring his expression. Unlike Zevran, Gio was a man who once had the promise of a future – he had a good family, money, an education, connections. And then the mistakes of his father saw his childhood home burned to the ground, his parents murdered, his sister put onto the streets. In Antiva, if you were hated by someone with enough coin, the Crows would be the first to know. 

It was something Gio preferred to forget. Nothing could bring back his former life, so he pretended it never happened. 

“That’s not your concern,” he said coldly. The bottle on the table looked all the more appetising to him now. “Go check on your beloved Warden, why don’t you? I have a private appointment with a bottle of rum.” 

  
The basement of Gio’s apartment was a surprisingly well furnished considering the area in which he lived. There were no windows so it was lit entirely by lanterns and candles, which surrounded the large bathtub in the centre of the room. In the corner was a four-poster bed with expensive looking sheets, though it was obscured by all manner of clutter. Barrels and crates were stacked from floor to ceiling, and there were lanterns of coloured glass strung haphazardly between drapes and hunting trophies and strange sculptures. Zevran could not even say what some of the things were, but he was certain they were worth a lot, and knew they were most likely stolen. 

When he reached the bottom of the staircase, Mia was staring at him from behind a fragrant cloud of steam. The essences Gio put in the bathwater were certainly potent. 

“Please don’t look at me like that. I hate myself enough,” he said. 

“Looking at you like what?” 

“Like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you.” 

She reached for his hand when he came to the edge of the tub. “I don’t think that. Come, join me,” she said, splashing a little water at him. “You smell like seawater.” 

“I-... I think I will bathe later.” He could see the full extent of what the Crows had done to her now. The bruises, the burns, the cuts – everything. He wanted to hide away, to lock himself in a dark room and go to sleep, to prevent himself from hurting anyone else. 

“I won’t bite,” she said, flashing him a playful grin and tugging at his belt. 

It made him laugh. “Hmm, I’m not sure if I believe that.” 

In spite of his feelings, he accepted her wish and removed his clothes. They sat opposite one another in the tub, both struggling to think of what to say. 

“It’s my fault,” Zevran said eventually. He began to unravel his tangled braids to distract himself from thoughts he did not wish to dwell on. 

“I knew you were going to say that.” 

He was unable to stop looking at the deep gash under her left eye. It was going to scar. “If you wished to go back to Ferelden now, I would understand.” 

“Then understand this: I don’t want to. The Crows don’t scare me.” 

“Well, they should,” said Zevran. He submerged himself beneath the water and stayed there for a while, letting the oils soak into his hair. 

“I don’t know, they can be quite charming sometimes,” Mia said when he came back up. 

He rubbed the water out of his eyes. “Oh? Fond of torture now, are we? Velabanchel did that to me, too.” 

“That’s not where I was going with that but...” She pushed him to the back of the tub and straddled him, biting playfully at his neck. “I'll remember that next time we find ourselves in some torturer’s dungeon.” 

“You said you wouldn’t bite,” he said. 

Mia reached under the water and quirked an eyebrow. “I did. Though something tells me you rather like it.” 

When he hoisted her up by the waist and slid himself into her, she knew her suspicions had been correct. 

“I missed you,” he said. 

“I can tell.” 

As Zevran craned his neck up to kiss her, Mia pushed his shoulders back down and fucked him as hard as she could. 

She cared little for her own pleasure in that moment; sometimes she simply enjoyed watching him suffer. She watched closely for his reactions, observing his breaths, the way he looked at her. 

“Feel good?” she asked when she noticed his fingers tighten around the edge of the tub. And when he nodded, she simply smirked and stood up to leave. 

“Every time...” he said, shaking his head. “Why are you like this?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was led to believe you liked torture.” 

The water crashed around the tub as he stood up. “This is true,” he purred, bending her over the edge without mercy. “But not always as the subject.” 

They continued this way for some time, with his hand grabbing her hair, pulling at it, occasionally moving to her neck. Mia found herself enjoying the change in authority, though she tried her best to keep quiet knowing that Gio was upstairs. 

They were soon very aware of this fact when they heard a great crashing sound from the floor above. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Mia. 

“I have a feeling the Rivaini rum has something to do with that.” Zevran let go of her hair and finished himself off, as if on command. 

After finding the dry clothes that Gio had left for them on the stool beside the bath, they sauntered upstairs to see what had become of their drunken friend. 

The room was dark when they entered, yet Gio was stumbling about the place ferrying ingredients back and forth, so drunk he could barely stir the stew. 

“It’s ready!” he sung. 

Zevran watched in amazement as his friend slammed three bowls down on the table, smashing the one at the bottom, and then tried to sit down in a chair. Despite his efforts, Gio ended up having to be helped off the floor by Zevran, whilst Mia found a replacement for the broken bowl and served up the stew. Lighting the torches on the wall only made them realise what a mess he had made. 

“Did you put rum in this?” Zevran asked, eyes watering as he swallowed the abomination of a stew. 

Instead of answering, Gio began to giggle so hard he almost fell off the chair again. 

Mia sipped from the bowl as if it was the best thing she had ever tasted. “Mmm, you must give me your recipe, G,” she mocked. “I think this would go down well in Ferelden!” 

“A bowl of bog water would go down well in Ferelden,” said Zevran, abandoning his stew to crack open a bottle of rum for himself. 

She tried to think of a defence but her mind was blank. Fereldan cuisine was rarely enjoyed by anyone other than Fereldans themselves. At any rate, it was a far sight better than Gio’s cooking. “This stew must be at least three-quarters rum,” she said. 

“What can I say? I try to keep my meals... exciting,” he slurred. Then from out of his pocket, Gio pulled out a pack of cards and slammed them down on the table. 

Zevran flicked the cork into the fireplace and stared at him from across the room. “Ugh. What now?” 

“I think he’s challenging us,” Mia said. 

“She’s a smart one, this girl of yours.” Gio pushed the bowls aside and began to deal, though every hand was off by about ten cards. 

With a sigh, Zevran marched over to the table and gathered the cards so he could shuffle them. “It is painful watching you deal. Are you certain you wish to play in such a state?” 

Gio glowered up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Yes.” 

By the start of their fifth game, Mia and Zevran were almost as drunk as Gio. There were so many coins strewn across the table that nobody could remember what the stakes were anymore. 

“Deal again! I want a rematch!” Mia shouted. 

“If you insist. It’s not my fault you’re so terrible.” Zevran dealt five cards each and set down the deck. 

Gio almost spat out his drink. “She’s better than _you_.” 

“Come again?” 

“You heard me,” said Gio. “I saw your hand last round and you folded on three knights. Three.” 

“Hmm, you would have empty pockets after a night with House Arainai, my friend. And why is it that you were looking at my hand?” 

The smuggler tried to keep a straight face but ended up bursting out with laughter, which only set Mia off as well. 

Zevran cursed under his breath and sat back in his chair, this time making sure nobody could see. “Just draw a card, Mia.” 

“Okay, okay,” she said, trying to compose herself. She drew a single card and smiled back at him. 

“... and discard? Come on, how drunk are you?” said Zevran. 

“I don’t know what you mean!” she slurred, tossing a card onto the table. “There, Knight of Dawn.” 

Gio bit his lip when he saw the card, knowing that based on the last game, even the mere mention of the card was enough to enrage Zevran. 

However, not wanting to look the fool, Zevran took a deep breath and looked to Gio. “Your turn,” he said through his teeth. 

After Gio's rotation, Zevran almost lost it when he saw another knight on the discard pile. “Such confidence,” he scoffed, drawing his own. It was the Angel of Truth – a strong card, though he had no matches. He discarded one of his three Songs in the hope to make some stronger pairings. 

When Mia drew her next card, she was almost in tears of laughter. “Angel of Death,” she said, flipping it face up onto the table. “Game’s over, show your hands... if you dare.” 

As soon as Zevran saw the other hands he knew he had lost. 

“Are you serious-” He refused to show his hand and pushed all the cards on the table together. “No, that is simply ridiculous. Again.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry - is it only acceptable when the luck is on your side?” said Mia. 

Gio tossed his hand over to Zevran. “Come on Araini, it’s not so hard, is it? It’s just a little game of cards... such an _easy_ game. My sister played it better than you at five years old.” 

“I said, _again_.” Zevran shuffled the cards for a very long time, and in as many ways as he knew how. As the cards flipped and riffled through his fingers, Mia stared at him the entire time with a childish grin on her face. He tried his best to ignore it. 

When he was finally satisfied that the cards were sufficiently shuffled, he dealt, set the deck down, and took a long drink from his bottle. 

“Oh ho-ho!” Gio exclaimed, looking satisfied at his hand already. “This should be a good one.” 

Zevran waited for Mia to look at her hand, though her expression did not change. 

“Is the fearsome Crow too scared to look at his own hand?” she teased. 

“Not at all. Let’s see shall we... oh for-” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw his hand and threw it up in the air, scattering cards all over the room. 

The reaction was so amusing that Mia and Gio both collapsed onto the floor, so hysterical that they were coughing and crying with laughter. 

“I can’t breathe...” Mia wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. 

Vowing never to play with either of them ever again, Zevran slammed his forehead into the table. “I hate you both _so much_.” 


	12. A Merchant Named Claudio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the summer of 9:33 Dragon. Zevran and Mia go to visit Claudio Valisti in Treviso. There is an unexpected guest, and Mia gives Zevran an ultimatum.

“Everyone is staring at us,” said Mia, fanning herself in the scorching heat. 

Her fugitive fiancé was busy grinning back at the other guests. “They have simply noticed how handsome we are, my dear.” 

“No, they’re thinking how rich they’d be for turning us in.” 

“Always so serious, aren’t you?” Zevran pouted, trying to mock her expression. “Come now, Mia. Have a little fun! Besides, you don’t need to worry – every Crow here is a Valisti, which means-” 

“I’m starting to think you have some sort of fetish for dangerous situations,” she interrupted. “It’s been less than half a year since Velabanchel, and yet here we are at a party full of Crows. Excellent idea.” 

“You didn’t have to come.” He propped his legs up on the stool in front of them and drained an unpleasantly warm glass of wine. “Have I ever forced someone to engage in a fetish against their will? No. So, what does that say about you following me here?” 

Mia waved him away with a dismissive hand and looked out over the Trevisi sea. She thought Rialto Bay was even more beautiful here than in Antiva City, its warm, turquoise waters so clear one could see right through to the ocean floor. Trading galleys sailed across the horizon, making their way from Rivain to the port in Treviso, then on to Antiva City, Rialto, Salle, and Bastion. It was not uncommon to see the Felicísima Armada in these waters either, scouring the seas from Llomeryn to Estwatch, raiding any merchant not wealthy enough to bribe them. 

The merchant princes of the Valisti dynasty owed a lot of their wealth to trading on these shores, and were thus very used to paying such pirates into looking the other way. In recent years the Armada had grown bold, their hand squeezing as much gold out of the Valisti purse as it possibly could. It was humiliating for the Valistis, not only as a trading house, but as a Talon. 

Now every peasant in Treviso despised the management of House Valisti, with many hoping that Claudio would soon succeed and restore the local economy. But it was unclear when that time would come. For now, Claudio continued to garner influence, favour, and wealth, doing his best to mitigate the damage his father was doing. 

And so, it was no surprise to anyone that Zevran had been observing their family struggles for some time now, wondering how he could use them to his advantage. The fact he could now turn up at one of Claudio’s summer parties without any trouble only confirmed how effective his recent letters had been. 

“You think he knows we’re here?” asked Mia. 

“If he didn’t, we'd be dead. And…” Zevran waved at the upstairs window of the manor across the garden. “Maker, he looks almost as miserable as you.” 

Instead of waving back, Claudio disappeared from the window and marched into the garden a few moments later. 

“Oh _why_ did you have to provoke him? Can’t we just drink the wine and-” Mia stopped to clear her throat awkwardly when he came within earshot. 

The dark-haired man was only in his mid-twenties, yet had been a well-respected merchant since adolescence. Some said he had more connections than even his father, and his sister was much the same – ambitious, cunning, and commanding the respect of entire guilds. 

“I thought I told you not to cross me again,” he said, joining them under the shade of the stone pavilion. 

“Ah, it is wonderful to see you too, Claudio!” Zevran stood up and opened his arms for a hug, but Claudio did not look impressed. “I believe the instruction was simply to stay away from _Orlanda’s_ estate, correct?” 

“So you came all the way to Treviso for what – to make a point? I received your… letter. I’ve told our Crows to turn a blind eye to your existence where possible. What more do you want?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Wine? Music? The night is young, my friend.” 

Claudio pulled up a chair and scratched his well-trimmed beard. “I heard about what happened at Velabanchel,” he said to Mia, his tone solemn and his grimace owing to what vague memories he had of that place. “Everyone knows about it. If that didn’t convince you to flee the country, I don’t know what will.” 

She knew there was wisdom in his words. It made her body tense up, those thoughts in the back of her mind growing louder and louder once more, telling her to listen, to go back to Ferelden. “My business is my own,” she said. 

“Your business is quickly becoming _everyone’s_ business,” said Claudio. “As romantic as this adventure of yours may be, this is politics. You’re an Arlessa, if I’m not mistaken. If you think the merchant princes haven’t noticed a Fereldan noble working with a wanted outlaw, then you are a fool.” 

“And they have no proof,” Zevran said. 

“I’m not talking to you.” 

The heat was almost unbearable for Mia. For all her years in Antiva, she had never experienced such an exhausting summer. Her once pasty, Fereldan skin was now lightly bronzed, and her arms were raw with sunburn. She stuck out like a sore thumb at the party – and even now the Crows were staring at her, trying to listen in for as much gossip as their hearing permitted. “I appreciate the concern, but everything is quite alright, thank you.” 

“If you think this is going to have a happy ending...” Claudio shook his head and reclined into the plush, upholstered chair, enjoying the ocean breeze. Of all the places in the world, this was his favourite. He would hold onto these riches even if it killed him; even if it meant letting Zevran have his way. 

“Oh, but happy endings are my speciality,” said Zevran, flashing him a playful grin. 

The joke amused Claudio, but he refused to smile. Instead, he turned to Mia, who was busy trying not to laugh herself. “I don’t suppose you would be able to enlighten me as to what the purpose of this visit is? Or do you just follow him around like some sort of dog?” 

She looked at him askance. “If you’re going to speak to me like that then I don’t suppose I will.” 

“Tsk, tsk. Oh, Claudio! Whatever happened to that silver tongue of yours?” said Zevran. 

“I reserve it for people who haven’t stolen my private correspondences and used them to blackmail me,” Claudio hissed. 

“Stolen them?” Zevran said as if offended. “What manner of monster do you think I am? I simply have a good memory, that is all.” 

Mia watched as Claudio sighed and turned his gaze to the impressive seascape just beyond the low, stone wall of the garden. She almost felt sorry for him. “We came here to make sure you were true to your word. That’s all. We didn’t come to taunt or harass you. It’s life or death for us at the moment, as I’m sure you well know.” 

The merchant waited for a couple of nosy guests to pass before offering a response. 

“I understand. As I said, if you maintain your silence on the matter, you shall have no trouble from Valisti. We received word from House Arainai some time ago asking the other Talons to join in with the manhunt-” 

“Then Avalia must truly miss me,” Zevran laughed. 

“Yes,” said Claudio, clicking his fingers to summon one of his servants. “She certainly made that clear after you left dear Orla’s party. Kept whining about how she was going to gouge your eyes out and feed them to her cats.” 

The thought alone was enough to make Mia shiver. When the servant approached with a tray of wines, she took one and drank half the glass in a single gulp. 

“How thoughtful,” said Zevran, taking a glass for himself. “Perhaps I shall send her some flowers. Oh, will you tell her I am thinking of her and that I miss her dearly?” 

Claudio tasted the wine and dismissed the tall, elven servant. “I’d rather not.” He glanced over at his many guests. They averted their gaze when Claudio looked, pretending they had not just been staring. “Listen. I’ve told them not to touch you, but I’m afraid I cannot be held responsible for those that go behind my back.” 

“Yes you bloody well can,” Mia said. “Otherwise what’s to stop you letting them come for him and claiming they went against your orders?” 

“Then you’ll just have to trust me.” 

By sunset, Mia was sprawled out on a cushioned bench in a quiet corner of the garden, enjoying the milder heat of the setting sun. Whilst Zevran and Claudio were busy socialising, Mia was drifting in and out of sleep to the sound of waves lapping against the sand nearby. 

There was something incredibly serene about this part of Treviso; Mia almost never wanted to leave. She wanted to lie there forever, to forget about all her struggles, including the ones she burdened herself with. Struggles she could never leave Zevran to face alone. 

The sound of the waves soon removed her from those anxious thoughts, taking her to comforting memories of her clan, of her friends from the Blight, of drinking stale beer with Alistair and listening to Leliana sing. 

She had been on the very verge of drifting off again when she was startled by Claudio draping his blue silk cloak over her. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he laughed when she jolted upright. “I just thought it might get cold soon.” 

“Oh,” said Mia. She was surprised by the gesture, though she still did not trust him. “Thank you.” 

The merchant offered her a warm smile and sat beside her on the end of the bench. “I often lie here myself, watching that horizon. No place compares to Antiva City, but this feels most like home to me.” 

“That’s nice.” Mia had no idea why he was telling her this; she thought he surely had more productive ways to waste his time than humouring her. 

“Don’t you have a similar feeling? I never asked which part of Ferelden you hail from.” 

“Home is wherever my family is.” 

“And where are they?” 

“On the throne to Ferelden, scheming in Orlais, lost in a magical mirror, drunk or dead. Oh, and then there’s that rogue assassin that keeps ruining your parties.” 

“Not the average family,” he laughed. “No real relatives to speak of then?” 

She shuffled uncomfortably and gave Claudio back his cloak. “They _are_ my real family. But my parents are dead, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Oh.” 

“Any more questions?” she said, now annoyed by the whole conversation. It was ruining what had so far been a very peaceful evening. 

Claudio clipped the cloak to the golden brooches on his shoulders and looked her up and down. “Your paranoia does you no favours, Warden. I’m simply trying to be friendly.” 

“In my experience, very few people are just ‘trying to be friendly’. I didn’t get this far by telling people like you my life story.” 

“People like me?” 

“I know what happened between you and Zev all those years ago. He murdered your associate; your family took away his first love. And now he’s got you cornered and there’s not much you can do about it. I’m sure you can see why it’s hard for me to take your kindness seriously.” 

There was a long silence after that. Claudio knew she was right; he could not rid himself of the underlying animosity he felt towards both her and Zevran. For the past few weeks he had been cursing himself for not killing them at Orlanda’s party. He felt stupid now. There was nobody he could tell either, as he felt too embarrassed to admit just how badly he had been outplayed. The only thing he could do was hope someone killed Zevran in a way that made it clear there was no involvement on his part. He knew Zevran would have found a way to expose his secrets even in death. 

Fortunately, an uninvited guest had given Claudio hope that his troubles would be short-lived. 

It was why he felt compelled to be kind to Mia, in case she reacted badly. And everything about the way she spoke to Zevran, the way she looked at him, and the blind dedication to his cause told Claudio that a bad reaction was most definitely on the cards. 

He knew the guests were going to be startled, but he was not expecting them have cause to draw their weapons. 

Raised voices could be heard across the garden as the guests turned from wine-sipping aristocrats into knife-wielding Crows. The crowds then parted to make way for the Araini outlaw they were forbidden to touch. Zevran marched towards Claudio, eyes staring daggers into him, and dragging his uninvited guest by the hair. 

“Zev, come on, this was nothing to do with-” Claudio began, standing up to try and calm him. 

“You have five seconds to explain yourself,” said Zevran. The assassin cried out in pain as Zevran yanked his head up and hooked a sharp dagger under his chin. 

“He is Araini,” said Claudio, moving cautiously towards Zevran, arms outstretched. 

Mia was almost as angry as Zevran. “And just how do you know that?” she hissed. 

“That is an excellent point, _querid_ _a._ One might think Claudio let him in willingly, hm? How rude.” 

The other guests were watching Claudio for a signal, ready to put Zevran down as soon as he crossed the line. 

But Claudio gave no such signal. “ _Maldición_ , Zev. I didn’t promise to defend you from every single Crow that came for you. That wasn’t part of the deal.” 

“All you had to do was tell him I wasn’t here.” Zevran pressed the knife into the assassin’s neck and spoke close to his ear. “Who sent you? Avalia?” 

“No,” they said. 

“Tell me.” 

The assassin laughed and spat in Zevran’s face. “Someone with a lot of coin.”

Zevran wiped the spit from his face and sliced the man’s throat in a sudden rage, leaving them twitching at his feet. 

“It never ends,” Mia said, stepping over the body as if it were nothing and brushing past Zevran without so much as looking at him. All the eyes in that garden watched as she wandered off towards a long, rose-covered archway that led to the beach. 

With the flick of one hand and the click of the other, Claudio ordered his guests to resume the party and summoned two servants to tidy away the body. 

“If you ever do that again, our bargain is forfeit,” said Zevran, and chased after Mia. 

The guests whispered to one another as Zevran passed, though he tried his best to ignore them. He snatched a bottle of wine from one of the servants as he left, uncorking it as he searched for Mia in the shadows. The flora that covered the arch was so dense it was difficult for him to see anything until the path opened up onto the beach. 

When he found her, she was sprawled out on the sand, watching the stars emerge across the mauve-pink sky. 

He washed his hands in the ocean and sat beside her. The look on her face told him she was worrying again, unhappy with the prospect of a new enemy to contend with. Though even when she scowled like that, even with that new scar across her cheek, he thought she was beautiful. 

“It’s okay.” He hollowed out a place in the sand for the wine to sit. 

“Is it?” 

Zevran sighed and hugged his knees. He always felt as though he was failing her somehow, burdening her with a thousand problems that only managed to get worse. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise.” Mia sat up and squeezed his hand. “I just want it to be over, that’s all. I want to run away, to leave Antiva behind and move onto something new.” 

“I would not blame you if you did.” 

“I meant run away with _you_ , idiot. I’d never leave you in this mess.” 

He turned to her with a sad smile and caressed her cheek. Every time his fingers ran over that scar, he felt awful. “Sometimes I wish you would.” 

Mia then pulled a fine chain out from her jerkin, showing him the jewelled, golden earring that was strung from it. “Why do you think I wear this every day? Because you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. It meant everything to me, Zev.” 

“I-… I know.” He squeezed her hand back, but was at a loss for words. He was still terrible at conversations like these. 

“Letting you live after what you did went against all reason and logic, everything I’d worked towards since Ostagar. I walked into that decision completely blind - it was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. And I honestly thought you were going to leave after-…” She avoided his eyes. “After Taliesen died. I gave you a choice, thinking you'd leave, but you chose me.” 

“It made the most sense.” 

“No, it didn’t. Nothing about it made sense. You went against everything you’d ever known just for me. You risked your life fighting darkspawn, defying the Crows, killing your best friend. It made no sense at all. So, let me do the same for you now. It’s been years – I just want you to stop hating yourself. Just for once.” 

He looked at her with a pained expression. “I am trying, I promise. I just-…” 

“Just what?” 

“I am not the self-assured assassin I once was. I used to be arrogant, confident, thought I had it all. Before I felt… love, or whatever it is that I feel, I was happy. Now I feel as though I am waging a war with my own mind. My thoughts are torture, and it never really goes away.” 

“I’m here,” she said, fingers finding the spaces between his. “You don’t have to face them alone. Not anymore.” 

Zevran appreciated her words, but knew deep down that he was alone. In his view, all the affection in the world could not save him from himself. Still, he played the role of lover as best he could, charming and tender, always pretending, unable to lay himself bare to anyone. Not even Mia. 

He pulled away and took a mouthful of wine. “I’ll deal with House Arainai, I promise.” 

“ _You?”_ Mia’s fist clenched when he pulled away his hand. “And what am I to do? Sit around waiting for the Crows to come knocking at our door again?” 

“You have to trust me.” 

“No.” She stood up as if to leave. “I’m done with trusting you. There’s no end to this, Zev. You don’t have a clear goal, and I’m never sure whether it’s justice you want, or revenge. I don't even think you know the answer to that.” 

“I understand.” He nodded. “If you wish to leave-” 

“No, I told you, I’m not leaving. If you say that one more time, I swear I’ll-” 

“Then what do you want?” he snapped, standing up to face her. “You either leave me here to finish what I started, or you stay and _trust me._ Do you think I like this any more than you?” 

“I can only trust you if you let me in! How can I trust someone who never tells me anything? I’ve been here for two years and I still don’t know who’s running this stupid country. I can barely remember the names of the guildmasters.” 

“I showed you who I need to kill.” 

“’ _I’_ , it’s always ‘ _I_ ’. Just let this finally be _our_ problem. You said there’d be no more lies, but silence is almost worse. Just let me in, Zev. I can’t take this anymore.” 

“Then go!” he shouted, unable to hold back his anger. It was his guilt that kept him silent. Instead, he left her at the sidelines, letting her follow, wanting her to stay, but never letting her in. The more she pushed him, the colder he grew. And now she had pushed him too far. “I never forced you to stay. _You_ wanted to come here. If you’re not happy with how things must be then perhaps you should be honest with your feelings and just leave.” 

Rage clouded her judgement after that. Without thinking, she ripped the earring from her neck and threw it into the sand. “If you’re going to be like that, then perhaps I will,” she said, storming back to the gardens. 

Seeing his earring cast aside hurt him more than he thought possible. His heart sank and his anger turned to sadness. “Mia, please!” he called after her, picking up the jewelled earring and its broken chain. “Don’t leave this.” 

She turned to face him, allowing him to catch up. “Why? You can take back your proposal if it only binds me to a ghost.” 

“I never wanted that,” he said, his voice softer now. “If you must force me to choose...” Zevran took her hands and wrapped them around the earring. “Then I choose this.” 

For a moment she considered rejecting it, considered pushing him away and putting an end to the games. Yet the look on his face was desperate, sorry for all the ways he had wronged her, and she believed it. 

“I said I’d only take it if it means something. And if this is love, then let me love you. If vengeance is what you want, then help me to understand - not as an advisor or a follower. As a companion. This is my problem as much as it is yours.” 

Every fibre of his being wanted to say no, for things to go back to how they were. 

Yet losing her was his greatest fear. 

“If this is truly what you want,” he said, leading her back to their spot in the sand. “Then you have much to learn.” 


	13. Three is a Crowd, Four is a Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:34 Dragon - another year has passed, but this time things are finally looking up. Zevran, Mia, and Gio meet in Antiva City to discuss their progress. They are joined by an old friend of Zevran's, who helps them on a mission to break into the house of a mystery pursuer.

“Leliana? The Left Hand of the Divine…?” Mia stared open-mouthed at the crumpled letter Gio slid across the table. 

“Impressive friends you have now,” he chuckled. “First I’m getting letters from the King of Ferelden, now the Left Hand of the Divine…” 

“Yeah well, here’s hoping we’ll find a more permanent residence soon.” Mia took one of the ales Zevran returned with and toasted to herself. “Then we can save you the trouble of being our letterbox.” 

Gio smirked when Zevran arrived. “Ah, you’re finally back. Fancy a game of Grace?” 

“Good luck, I burned your cards,” he said. Zevran pushed an ale towards his friend and slumped back in one of the old wooden chairs that were crammed around the table. 

After a brief search in his coat pocket, Gio then pulled out a pack of cards and set them on the table with an impish grin. 

“Stop being childish, both of you.” Mia shook her head and fanned the pages of her notebook. “This is a serious meeting.” 

The infamous smuggler rolled his eyes and looked around the dingy tavern. The night was young and the end-of-week parties were only just beginning. “Can’t we have a few rounds first before-” 

“Nope. It’s nearly sunset and I want this done before we have to meet Zev’s friend,” she said. 

Mia had spent the past year bringing some semblance of order to her life. The more Zevran taught her about the ins and outs of Antivan politics, the more she learned about the Crows. And the more she learned about the Crows, the more determined she became to relieve Zevran from his predicament. 

“Alright, well perhaps we should start with the bad news,” said Gio. 

Mia frowned at him. “Go on…” 

“Claudio Valisti,” he announced. “New head of his family. _Someone_ didn’t like his father very much, or at least that’s what people have been saying. Now the whoreson has secured Treviso and who knows what next. It’s all they’re talking about in the royal palace.” 

“And what were you doing in the palace?” Zevran scoffed. “Giving a private dance to the king?” 

He shrugged. “Dellamorte needed a favour.” 

“You work for Dellamorte now?” Zevran shot him a disgusted look. “Are you quite serious?” 

“It was a one off, alright? They pay well and they tipped me a bottle of rum.” 

Although damp and dingy, the tavern was as busy as ever, with everyone crammed around sticky tables or dancing between them to the tune of a very drunken band. Nobody was quite sure why this four-storey tavern was such a local favourite considering the frequent fights and poor hygiene, though the ale was the cheapest one could find in the city centre. The trio liked to meet here every couple of weeks, and had been doing so for the best part of a year. It was easy to blend into such dense crowds, especially when most people were far too drunk to eavesdrop. Additionally, the Crows preferred more reputable establishments, so encountering them here was rare. 

“Any word from House Arainai?” Mia asked, fingers flicking through a series of neatly written notes. 

“No,” Gio sighed. “Passed by their estate on my way to the bank and it was… weirdly quiet. Seems like they have less work than this time last year.” 

Mia pressed her notebook open and drummed her fingers on the empty page. “Good. That’s what we like to hear. That means all our work hasn’t been for nothing. And after what Zev’s told me, I think we might have ourselves a promising new lead. You see, last night Zev went to pay an old colleague a visit and-” When she looked over at Zevran he was fast asleep in his chair. “Hey! Pay attention,” she said, clapping her hands in his face. 

“Mmmh. What now?” His mission from the previous night had lasted through till dawn, much later than he initially anticipated. 

“Your news, _vhenan_ _,_ ” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as an apology for waking him. Mia kept them both to a strict schedule these days, just as she had done during the Blight. Nobody could deny it was getting results. 

“Ah,” Zevran said, straightening in his seat and turning to Gio. “So, it turned out visiting my former friend was… a bad idea. I'd thought they might at least be open to talking, that I might bribe them for information on Avalia’s whereabouts, but she attacked me as soon as I climbed through her bedroom window.” 

“I mean… I can’t blame her. I would.” Gio laughed. “How d’you get out of that one?” 

“Poison. Though I did ask her whether she would prefer a swifter death. I am a gentleman, of course,” he said with a smirk. “And that was _after_ she tried to seduce me.” 

Mia folded her arms at him. “Please don’t tell me that’s why you came back so late.” 

“No, don’t you worry about that. I was questioning her about my latest pursuer. The problem was getting her to stop screaming – you see, the walls are so thin in those apartments I had to gag her until she calmed down.” He rubbed his eyes and stared into his pint, trying to revive the memory of the night before. “She spoke of a man who goes by the name of Nuncio.” 

“Name sounds familiar,” said Gio, racking his brains for wherever he might have heard it before. Matching names to faces was difficult when he had met half the city. 

“She claimed he was quite close to Avalia, in some way or another. Then it all went downhill from there and I had to kill her,” Zevran said. “Shame really.” 

“That’s still useful.” Mia set down her tankard and scribbled something else down. “Good work. If Avalia’s sending lackeys now, we need to find her as soon as we can. And it’s clear from our investigations that she’s not staying in Eoman’s old quarters.” 

“Which means she is scared,” said Zevran, grinning to himself at the thought. 

The men watched as Mia took a long drink from her tankard and pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. They trusted her. She was a born strategist; the end of the Blight was enough to tell them that. All year she had been making plans, writing and forging letters, meeting informants, and collecting as much information from Alistair and Leliana as possible. Even the Vigil benefitted from her sudden surge in motivation; she was able to increase contact with the Wardens and resolve any pressing issues in Amaranthine remotely. 

Whilst Mia played the role of leader, Zevran had been doing a lot of the dirty work. Despite very much enjoying the few times Mia joined him on his missions, he found he was much more efficient alone. Most of his work that year consisted of interrogations, infiltrations, and stealing plans, missives - anything that could help his cause. He was careful despite the risk, and found his skills flourished under Mia’s guidance. For the first time since his return to Antiva, he felt useful again. 

Then there was Gio. In spite of his other responsibilities, Gio was an invaluable source of information. He was a man of many connections and had an impressive monopoly on the city’s shadow market. Smugglers, thieves, and spies would often give him information free-of-charge, if only in the hope he would not cause them trouble. Despite wanting the best for Zevran, his help was not entirely altruistic in nature. In reality, Gio hated the merchant princes. If spending his teenage years on the streets taught him anything, it was that they cared for little else than profit and power. While his sister was starving to death, they were busy flouncing around their estates writing contracts to whatever Talon liked them the most. Even the royal family licked their boots. It disgusted him. 

“I’ll kill Avalia if I ever see her,” said Gio, smoothing his thick moustache into shape. “Though I’m more concerned about Claudio.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Zevran said. “I own him now. He can fill his pockets however he likes, and if his Talon gets promoted then it only serves to increase my control.” 

“That’s not the point.” Gio downed the rest of his pint and glanced over the drunken crowds. “He’s already doubled the size of his fleet - my last trip to Rivain was a fucking nightmare. How am I supposed to make a living with him cracking down on smugglers so aggressively? Every time I see Valisti sails I nearly shit myself. I’ve already had one of my ships go missing! They were good men...” He shook his head at the thought of their fate. 

“I’m afraid I cannot help you there,” said Zevran. “Claudio and I have a very… _specific_ arrangement. If I pushed him any further, I fear he would simply lash out. His profits mean everything to him, and people such as yourself are a threat to that.” 

“Good,” Gio said coldly. “His kind are a curse on this country.” The sight of his empty tankard now made him restless. “Now what do you need me for? You gonna let me get drunk or do you need someone killing?” 

“We do,” Mia said. “We do indeed.” 

The three of them slipped out into the night with their hoods obscuring their faces, as usual. Despite the hoods, their arms were left bare and their clothes loose - even in the evening the heat this time of year was unbearable. Last summer they had been harassing Claudio in Treviso; this summer, Claudio was reaping the rewards of his father’s death. 

As they wove through the weekend nightlife, they eventually turned onto the Boulevard of the Seas, a street paved with tiles so turquoise it felt to them like walking on an ocean floor. Like many other parts of the city, the pavement on this street had existed for hundreds of years, so ingrained in the city’s infrastructure that its citizens barely considered it a historic landmark. The city was said to be a glittering gem, and Mia never failed to recognise it as such. Of course, there were times when she loathed the place; three years she had been its resident and not all of those were easy. 

But it was easier now she had improved her Antivan, and the more Zevran helped her get rid of her accent, the less she was treated as a foreigner. Nowadays she was able to go to a local market stall and not have them try and overcharge her. It was simple things like this that made her life more bearable. 

“Boulevard of the Seas at sunset,” Zevran said, tired eyes scanning the wide street for sign of his friend. “That’s when I told him to meet us.”   
  
Gio squinted at the passers-by, seeing nobody he recognised. “Well, either I’m blind or he’s not here.” 

“Probably blind. You _are_ an old man after all, and Salvail never misses his appointments,” Zevran teased. 

“Zev, I’m thirty-two. This is my prime, if that wasn’t already clear from my stunning good looks,” Gio said sarcastically, gesturing to the scar on his face. 

Something then disturbed the crowds in front of them. People shuffled aside to make way for a hooded figure who was jogging towards them. “That better be him,” Mia said, hand grabbing the hilt of her blade. 

They watched as the mystery figure approached, then skidded to a halt in front of them. He pulled back his hood and as soon as his thick, dark dreadlocks spilled out onto his gambeson, Zevran knew that it was indeed Salvail. 

Zevran opened his arms wide. “It has been far too long, my friend!” 

“You’re lucky I was in town,” the man said. Mia thought he had the scent of the sea about him – whether that was down to the sand on his boots or the sun spots on his golden-brown skin, she could not tell. 

In fact, it was one of the things Zevran loved about him – the hint of adventure. It reminded him of Isabela. 

Salvail hugged his friend back, greeted Gio, and then eyed Mia up and down. “ _So... this is her? Not what I was expecting but..._ ” he said in Antivan. 

“ _And what were you expecting?”_ she replied, putting on her best accent.   
  
The man shuffled awkwardly and looked at his boots. “Sorry,” he said, switching quickly back to common tongue. “I meant no offense. Zev said a lot about you in his letters... though he never mentioned you spoke Antivan.” 

She waved a dismissive hand, conscious of time. “It’s a recent development,” Mia said. “I’m not fluent yet, but Zev's teaching me. Look – if we’re going to do this then we need to move fast.”   
  
“And what exactly are we doing?” Salvail asked. The three men followed her as she made quick strides towards the end of the boulevard. “I only got the note this morning, and it wasn’t exactly informative.” 

“Listen,” Zevran snapped. “I’ve had three hours of sleep. I told you to be here, and it worked.” 

Gio sighed. “Salv, we just needed backup, that’s all. I didn’t want to drag my men into Zev’s antics and you know he lost half his friends when he left House Arainai.” 

“It’s not ‘antics’,” Mia said, pulling a crumpled map out of her jacket pocket and handing it to Salvail. “Someone’s been sending thugs after us for the past year – we're not sure who but since we started recording these kinds of incidents and following the pursuers for as far as possible, we managed to narrow the source down to a house not far off the King’s Gate.” 

Salvail handed the map back to Mia. “Right. So you called me out here to break into someone’s house?” 

“Yeah, and a rich bastard at that,” Gio said with a grin. 

They passed the royal palace at the end of the boulevard, its dozens of spires and stained-glass windows towering high above them, casting shadows onto the white marble path they veered onto. It was an impressive home for a family that controlled so little of the country, Mia thought. The path eventually opened up onto a main road bustling with carriages and carts, which they followed to a small piazza with several terraced manor houses. 

“It’s that one.” Mia pointed to the house that corresponded to the X on her map. “The one with the candle in the downstairs window.” 

“Right, well you’re lucky I brought my sword.” Salvail shook his head as they approached the building. “For all I knew you were inviting me for a drink.” 

“We can have a drink afterwards...” Mia said, unsheathing a dagger and peering inside the window. “... if you’re lucky.” 

There was little Mia could see from outside the window, other than a dining table, a vase of flowers, and a pair of leather boots. She puffed out her cheeks and turned to the others for ideas. 

“I could see if I could sneak in a back window. It’s a warm evening, they are probably open,” said Zevran. 

The idea did not appeal to Gio. “No, I’ve got this. Keep against that wall and stay hidden,” he said. After that, the smuggler hammered on the door and waited in the arched doorway until a young man came to greet him. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I’ve come to deliver a parcel,” Gio said, making sure to scan the room behind the man. It was empty. 

“I didn’t order a parcel,” he replied. The man was reaching for something. 

Before anyone could stop him, Gio swung round his loaded crossbow and shot the man in the head. 

“Gio!” Mia scolded, marching to the door to look at his victim. He was dead. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Probably,” Gio said. 

“Definitely.” Zevran followed them into the building as Salvail dragged the body aside and closed the door after them. 

It was so quiet in that building that they could have heard a pin drop. But as soon as the floorboards began to creak under their boots, three armed men rushed down the steps and, seeing the body, they rushed back upstairs to find backup. 

“How big is this house?” Gio loaded his crossbow and headed for the stairs. 

The rest of them prepared their own weapons and followed him up a narrow staircase where several portraits were hung. There was nobody immediately apparent on the second floor, so the four of them continued up another flight of stairs that opened up into a large, open space. 

The room was dim, but still bright enough to illuminate the ten individuals bracing themselves for a fight. It was immediately clear to Zevran that these men and women were not residents – they were stationed here as guards. Noblemen sometimes took such precautions when they were out of town. Hanging above the fireplace was a large portrait of a middle-aged man with a pointed beard. 

“We mean you no harm,” said Zevran. “We are simply searching for whoever owns this charming little house.” 

“Mean us no harm?” An elven woman in leather armour stepped forward and held her sword towards him. “You shot our friend!” 

Zevran rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. We are far from perfect, I agree. My friend is struggling with a disease of the mind, you see - it’s his old age.” 

“Quit with the jokes,” said the elf. She opened her mouth to say something else but did a double take when she caught a glimpse of Zevran’s tattoo. “You’re the elf we’ve been tracking! And you, the Hero of Ferelden!” she cried. “Kill them! All of them!” 

“Wait!” Mia shouted, parrying the blows that came crashing down on her. “Let us talk first!” 

But the group did not listen. 

They were right to have brought Salvail, as the guards put up a good fight. Whilst Mia was busy duelling the elf, Gio shot someone and switched to his sword. Meanwhile, Zevran and Salvail stood back-to-back, parrying blow after blow until they were out of breath and sweating in the heat. 

At last, when almost everyone was dead, the men watched as Mia wrapped up her long-winded duel with the elven woman. Even though the woman knew she had lost the battle, she punched Mia in the face and let out a fierce cry, her own face bleeding with injury. 

“Stop playing with her and finish her off,” said Salvail. “Then we can go for a drink. I’ve got plenty of rum on my ship.” 

Gio perked up at the mention of rum. “You have?” 

When the elf punched Mia to the ground, Zevran stepped forward and wondered if it was worth intervening. Instead, he waited, knowing nothing made Mia angrier than feeling doubted. 

As soon as Mia managed to leap back up, she wiped the blood from her lip and batted away the next blow, using that advantage to strangle her attacker against the wall. 

“Tell me who owns this house and I won’t snap your neck,” said Mia. 

The elven guard gasped for air, her feet not quite reaching the floor. “Please... I’m just here... to feed my children...” 

“Who pays you?” Mia’s hands squeezed tighter. 

“Let her go.” Gio now felt uneasy at the thought of harming someone who was only trying to make ends meet. He had spent half his life around people working professions they never wished for, only seeking to put food on the table. He thought of his sister. 

“A man... called... Nuncio,” she gasped. “Nuncio... Caldera... Lanos.” 

“Let her go, she’s given you what you want,” Gio demanded, storming towards Mia and trying to pry her hands from the woman. Mia let go and the woman fell to the floor, finally able to breathe again. 

“So, my pursuer is the Nuncio my friend spoke of last night,” said Zevran. “A nobleman – and he is a friend of Avalia?” He looked around the room, then crouched down in front of the woman and held out a hand. “We are grateful for the information. Please, let us get you out of here. We do not wish to harm you, if we can help it.” 

Yet she was frightened of Zevran. “He said you sold his children into slavery...” 

“What?! You cannot be serious.” Zevran began to laugh to himself. “Is this what the Crows have resorted to? Slander and lies? I can assure you, this Nuncio of yours has fooled you.” 

The woman looked up at Mia, who was busy cursing and dabbing at her bleeding lip, and then looked at Zevran. She took Zevran’s hand and allowed him to help her up. 

“I’m grateful for your mercy but... he’ll find me eventually. He’s in love with that Crow woman, from House Arainai...” she said. “And she has horrible friends.” 

Zevran knew exactly which woman she was referring to, but asked anyway. “And what did she look like?” 

“Blonde, tall... she scares me. I think she’s why Nuncio made us go after you. But he’s in Seleny right now, so we were just watching over his house.” Her face fell when she glanced over the bodies of her friends. “If you’ll excuse me... I have some things to tell my family...” 

The four of them watched the woman leave and then looked at each other awkwardly. 

Without a word, they combed the house from top to bottom for any documents or letters, memorised the portrait of Nuncio, and left. Nobody had expected the night to end this way, though Mia felt her investigation had paid off better than she thought possible. Knowing just what to do with this information was her next challenge. 

By the time they crossed the city and reached Salvail’s ship, the moon was all that was left to light its sails. Black sails, and a flag that bore the golden drake of Antiva. Piracy was still frowned upon, though anyone that had sailed the waters of Rialto Bay knew that pirates often flew false flags. So, there was little Antiva could do to stop Raiders like Salvail from docking their ships – especially given how easy the harbourmasters were to bribe. 

Before long, they were sharing a bottle of rum in Salvail’s cabin, exchanging stories and watching over Zevran as he took a well-earned nap. 

Salvail had been discussing his life on deck, the things he loved and the things he missed. “I don't know why you run from brothel to brothel and inn to inn, Warden. Why not purchase a ship? You hardly seem strapped for coin.” 

“She’s a _noble_ , that’s why,” Gio grinned. He judged her for that sometimes. 

At first the men thought Mia seemed intrigued by the concept of living on a ship. But for all her talk of conquering her fear of the sea, the idea of making it her home unsettled her. “I know nothing about sailing.” 

“I could teach you.” Salvail propped his legs up on his desk and peered into the bottle of rum. Empty. “And if you don’t want to, hire a crew.” 

“I mean, he’s got a point,” Gio said, handing another bottle to Salvail. “It’s not like Claudio’s ships are gonna give you much trouble.” 

Salvail nodded, twisting the cork out with a small knife. “Some of the Raiders might, but not my kind. I’ve got a lot of friends in Llomeryn – they'd welcome you if I gave them a heads-up. My friend Isabela, she already knows Zev...” 

“Isabela? The ‘Queen of the Eastern Seas’ Isabela? I know her.” Mia chuckled at the memory of that night. “Yes... I know her very well indeed...” 

“Mmhm,” Salvail hummed, picking up on her inference. “Most people do. But the point is that you have friends. I know it might not feel like you do... at least, I know Zev seemed to feel that way from his letters.” 

“He never told me that.” Mia frowned at her sleeping fiancé. She was glad he had someone to open up to at any rate, even though she wished it was her. It hurt her to think he was suffering more than he let on. 

“You know what he’s like. Barely opens up about anything.” The pirate lit another candle, took a long swig of rum, and passed the bottle to Mia. “You’d make a good sailor, I think. Makes more sense than what you’re doing now anyway – it's not a life.” 

“Maybe one day, Salvail.” She sighed. “One day.” 


	14. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:36 Dragon - Zevran and Mia are enjoying their new home, but decide to visit the city for All Soul's Day.

At first the Crows and merchant princes were successful in their attempts to make Antiva City a dangerous place for Zevran, but as the years passed and House Arainai crumbled, the cuchillos soon rallied to his cause. 

The summer of 9:36 Dragon was like a fairytale. The endless Antivan rains had stopped, the days were long, and each night ended with a beautiful sunset. 

“This was our dream, and the gods have finally listened,” Mia said, reclining on a cushioned bench they had set up on their bedroom balcony. She wanted to grow old here - on the outskirts of Antiva City, not the edge of the world or in some Warden fortress. 

These lands belonged to them, the dry plains and sloped vineyards, the luscious pines and the twisted olive trees, the distant view of Rialto Bay and the river that snaked its way down to Seleny. And for the first time, their home belonged to them too. It was purchased, not rented or borrowed, and they had restored it from dereliction to its former glory. For almost two years they enjoyed the gradual process of making it a home, furnishing it and wondering what to do with the extra bedrooms. 

Zevran played with her hair as she watched the farmers tend to the vineyard, her head resting on his lap. “I would sooner thank ourselves. We did this.” 

“I know,” she said, sitting up to sip her coffee. “We spat in the face of fate just to get here, but I like to think the gods had at least some part to play. It’s a belief I hold onto... to make sense of all of this. Because gods know nothing’s made sense since Ostagar.” 

“I can respect that.” He put a scrap of paper in his book and snapped it shut, squinting at the harsh sunlight. The afternoon sun was at an awkward angle, though neither of them regretted making this room their bedroom; having the sunlight wake them each morning was one of the simple pleasures they enjoyed each day. 

Mia rested her elbows on the stone wall of the balcony. The farmers who worked on the vineyard belonged to a local merchant, not them. He was an elderly man from Rivain who had been only too happy to sell them the farmhouse, given its former state, and intended to give up his vineyard someday too. 

This place was their sanctuary. Yet Mia often felt guilty for having it. 

She fanned herself with her hand. “I thought I was going to die with my clan, you know - all those years ago, before you knew me. Then _Duncan_ happened.” Mia rolled her eyes at the name. “And he forced me to cheat death.” 

“You would not have met me otherwise.” 

“... and then I spat in the face of fate again, when I should’ve died to the Archdemon.” 

“Morrigan wanted to help.” 

“And even before that, at Soldier’s Peak... I let Avernus continue his torture, all because I am frightened of the Calling and thought his experiments might help the Wardens. People are still being tortured and killed because of my selfishness.” 

Zevran frowned at her and joined her at the balcony. “You are not selfish. You are the Commander of the Grey. Sometimes sacrifice is needed for the greater good.” 

“Indeed.” She pressed her head into her hands. “This was supposed to be what we wanted... so why do I feel guilty? It feels like I wasn’t supposed to get this far.” 

“Mia...” he said, growing weary of this guilt she carried along with her, even now. It was hypocritical of him since he had his own guilt to bear, but he hated to see it on her. “I will not deny we have blood on our hands - many have died so that we may live this way, but you must give up on this idea that you are somehow running from fate.” 

“But I _am_.” 

“No,” Zevran said, pausing to pull on a loose, linen shirt. “If the Crows taught me anything, it's that everything happens for a reason. The power of one's actions. One murder, one choice, one word, can change the fate of an entire continent. I once told myself that the Maker had a plan for me - it was my way of coping with losing a life I never got to live. Then the cruelty I suffered during my training quickly tore me from that belief. I stopped visiting the chantry. Prayer began to feel pointless.” 

“But I see you pray sometimes,” Mia said. “You stopped by the city chantry only last week.” 

He offered her a warm smile. “I found faith again, to an extent. You see, the more I killed the more I realised I was wrong about destiny. Our actions are shaped by the ones that came before it - simple cause and effect, all lain out for us from birth. We cannot escape it. Our triumphs and regrets come only from the illusion of choice.” 

“So I can’t escape my fate? That’s what you’re saying?” 

“Not at all,” he said, wrapping his arm around her and gesturing to the lands before them. “I’m simply saying that everything that has happened was meant to be. Do I have regrets? Of course. But I would not necessarily be better off had I walked the other path.” 

Mia considered that thought for a time, still thinking about it long after she retreated indoors to finish dressing herself. Their bedroom was plainly decorated though not lacking in colour, with sheer curtains, bedsheets made of imported silk, and a large tapestry they had purchased in Treviso.   
  
In her dresser she found a simple blouse to wear with her breeches, having stashed her armour into the bottom drawer alongside the Dalish gloves that she gifted to Zevran long ago. There had been little cause to wear armour over the past few months, as her days now consisted of staying at home to write letters to Amaranthine and Denerim. It was Zevran who was spending his days in the city, meeting with allied cuchillos and investigating the Talons. 

As the sun began to set, they took a carriage to the city to join the festivities. It was All Soul’s Day, a day of the dead celebrated anywhere with a chantry. Despite its religious significance, Zevran and Mia mainly went for the parties. 

Even as the cart pulled up at the city gate, they could see children dressed as spirits and crowds filtering towards the Boulevard of the Seas. Enormous pyres were being constructed on every piazza they passed in preparation for the midnight parades. And key areas had their pyres paid for by the Chantry, to ensure everyone was reminded of Andraste’s death. 

Not that anyone would ever forget it. The imagery was plastered everywhere. 

“Maker forbid we have any fun,” Zevran said, rolling his eyes as they walked past a group of lay brethren. 

There was a spring in Mia’s step as she led him through the streets, pulling him by both hands through the crowds and towards the promenade. “Well, we didn’t come here for Andraste. We came to get outrageously drunk and to jump in the canal.” 

“Have you _smelled_ the canal? No...” Zevran shook his head, stumbling over his feet as she dragged him down the street. “Simply, no.” 

Mia stopped walking then, biting her lip and backing him towards the canal. 

“Very funny,” he said, laughing nervously when she pushed him as a joke. “Oh, I see. You want to play this game?” Zevran batted her arms aside and grabbed her, holding her over the edge of the canal. 

“Okay, okay!” Mia said. “Point made.” 

“Hmm, no. I think your idea was excellent.” 

She twisted around in his arms to face him. “This wasn’t how I imagined you’d make me wet, I’m not going to lie.” 

“Ahhh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Mia wrapped her fingers around his neck, kissed him hard on the mouth, and pushed him back into the crowd. “You think _I’m_ going to be the one begging? Very funny,” she said, and continued to the promenade. 

The sun was already setting when they reached the sea. This part of Antiva City was often busy, and they had crossed it a hundred times together, hand in hand as the waters lapped and the gulls pecked at the pavement. The entire stretch was lined with lanterns so pretty the restaurants thought it cause to charge extra for the view. 

They loved it here, especially during festivals. They loved the smell of salt and seaweed, the turquoise vastness of the bay and the wonder of the horizon. They could have skipped a thousand pebbles across that shore and still be fond of the scenery. 

It was home. 

After almost losing each other amongst the crowds, they arrived at their favourite portside tavern and headed inside for a drink. This particular tavern had a tall, vaulted ceiling with an ivy-covered courtyard that was popular on summer evenings. Despite the crowds, they managed to find themselves a table and finish not one, but three bottles of Seleny Rosso. And _not_ anything from Treviso. 

For hours they chatted, until the sky was covered in stars and a barmaid came to light them a candle. These days, being together in the city meant business, so for once they intended to drink until the room span around them. 

By the time the eleventh bell sounded across the harbour, Zevran was so drunk that everything Mia said sent him into a fit of laughter. 

And when they saw the famous Claudio Valisti staring at them from across the courtyard, it only made them laugh more. 

“Don’t look at him.” Mia said, pulling Zevran’s cheek back towards her. 

“ _He_ is looking at _me_!” he protested. “Of course I have to look back.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“But why, he has challenged me! How could I refuse?” 

When Zevran pulled away to continue staring at Claudio, the merchant abandoned the two women at his table and started towards them. 

“Are you kidding me?” Mia said, unable to sound as angry as she had wanted. “Now you’ve done it. This is what happened at his estate.” 

“Look,” Zevran slurred, almost knocking over his wine glass. “He loves me. I am sure of it. You only have to see the way he looks at me to know it was destined to be.” 

The merchant prince squeezed past noblemen, merchants, and dancing couples, staring down the two elves until he was able to reach them. “If you have something to say, say it now,” Claudio said at last, pulling up a chair and setting his wineglass on the table. 

“You look absolutely ravishing this evening, my friend,” Zevran said. 

Claudio clenched his jaw; Zevran was not his friend. “You’ve been busy, it seems. And with more than just wine.” 

His comment only emboldened them; they found it satisfying to hear news of their success had reached even he. Mia rested her arm on Zevran’s shoulder. “So have you, _Merchant Prince_.” 

“Yes,” Claudio said, stroking his beard as he always did. “Father died, and here I am. I’m sure you are aware I’ve been promoted a Talon.” 

“Ah yes!” Zevran gave him a short, patronising round of applause. “I am sure your father would be very proud. Shame you couldn’t become king, especially after you had someone killed for it.” 

The merchant leant back in his chair and stared at Zevran with half-lidded eyes. He remembered the Rosso Noche and had apologised for it at his sister’s ball, despite the fact he felt little regret for what had happened. “Zevran,” he said, his tone cold. “You can’t ruminate on that forever. What’s done is done. Besides, you’ve done well for yourself, so why complain? Two Talons in your pocket and half the cuchillos at your side... the merchant guild isn’t happy, let me tell you. You should hear what they call you...” 

Despite having heard it a hundred times, it never failed to amuse him. “Oh? And what is that? I haven’t heard,” he lied. 

“They call you the ‘Black Shadow’,” Claudio said. 

Zevran let out a childish laugh as Claudio stared at him, unimpressed, having realised that he already knew. “Ohhh, come now, Claudio. No need to pull such a miserable face. I quite like my new title. Rolls off the tongue, oozes with sex appeal...” 

The assassin was testing Claudio’s patience. “This isn’t a game. It’s a suicide mission.” 

“I’ve been there,” Zevran said bluntly. 

“Then don’t go there again. Kneecapping House Arainai is all well and good, but rallying the cuchillos is a terrible idea. What do you hope to achieve? Destroy the Crows all by yourselves?” Claudio scoffed, waving a dismissive hand when they said nothing. “Well good luck with that.” 

Mia was well aware that it was an ambitious plan. While Zevran would have dismantled the Talons from inside out on general principle, Mia was more concerned with intimidating them enough force them against their own vendetta. Over the past three years, the Crows had dispatched four assassins to take Zevran out, yet all of them had failed. Every single one fell to Zevran’s blades. And every single time, Mia reviewed their situation with a calm outlook, not with fear nor malice. She had only once desired vengeance, and that was after Velabanchel. But that had worn off with time, and she was able to sever her feelings from her actions once again. Zevran struggled with that. He had always struggled with that. 

“Your lecture is really killing the vibe,” said Mia, swinging the stem of her empty glass around in her fingers. “Relax, Claudio. Have a drink.” 

“I am relaxed,” Claudio said, face still pulled into a scowl. “What I meant to say was that you might be better off leaving Antiva.” 

Zevran began to hiccup and poured himself another glass. “I like it here.” 

“I spoke to Avalia the other day.” Claudio’s eyes were cold. 

“And?” 

“She’s going to kill you even if it’s the last thing she ever does,” the merchant said. It was evident to both Zevran and Mia that this was a threat, that he wanted them to suffer for everything they had done, yet all they could do was laugh. 

And once they started laughing, they were unable to stop. It was more than just the wine now; their situation had been so dismal for so long that all they could do was laugh. And laugh they did, until they were in such hysterics that Claudio shook his head and left. 

As more guests poured into the tavern, the pair of them stumbled through the crowds to leave, dazed and drunk and enjoying letting down their guard. Just for once they wanted to be free, to have the right to be careless and to live like a normal couple. 

It was dark when they reached the boulevard, yet the sky was filled with lanterns and aglow with a hundred fires that burned across the city. There was music everywhere, and drink and dancing and costumes and laughter. Once they pushed inside the crowds it was hard to find a way back out. 

At last, Zevran led his fiancé to an opening in the crowds, on a corner with a band and a view of the bay. There were a dozen couples dancing there, and so naturally, they danced too. 

“This is dangerous,” Mia said, feeling exposed all of a sudden. 

“We cannot hide forever, _amore_ ,” Zevran said, pulling her close. “We have a home, yes. But it is not a life.” 

“If I wasn’t so drunk... I would’ve stayed inside.” 

“Naturally, since that is where you’ll find the wine.” He grabbed her waist and spun her to the song, before bending her backwards over his forearm. Even drunk, he was a capable dancer, especially to Antivan music. “Relax. Better to have fun than to end up like Claudio, hm?” 

“Is this fun?” she slurred, feeling dizzy as he pulled her back up. “Or complacency?” 

He continued to spin, to guide her and pull her, to feel the way she moved against him and to revel in the gathering spectators. In his mind, she was right. It did feel dangerous, and yet he enjoyed every moment of it. 

And when the song came to an end, he pulled her close, out of breath and lost in the amber of her eyes. “Oh, it is so many things, my dear. So many.” 

Then he took her by the chin and kissed her. Really kissed her. It was the type of kiss that isolated all other senses and started something that needed to be finished. 

If it were not for the wine, they would have noticed the reaction of the crowd. Instead, Mia simply pulled back and took his hand, running away from the dance and along the quayside, trying not to fall into the water as they went. 

By the time they were doubled over and trying to catch their breath, they were on the other side of the bay, where street met mountain and festivities were quiet echoes in the distance. The only light here was the moon; the only voices were their own. 

“Zev...” she said eventually, grabbing him by the shoulders at the edge of the water. “Do you remember Lake Calenhad?” 

For a moment, he looked at her, confused, but realised what she was suggesting when she began to unbutton his shirt. “Oh-ho, no. I am not jumping in. Can we not make love in some horrible back alley instead?” 

“No,” Mia said with a grin, having made up her mind. When she pulled off his clothes, he offered little resistance, so she continued until he was unclothed at the edge of the water. 

“You do realise we are drunk.” 

“Can’t be worse than swimming from Velabanchel. Besides, I thought you liked danger.” 

Zevran raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but laughed when she backed him towards the edge. 

“I’m sorry it had to end like this,” Mia teased. She pulled him into a kiss, then pushed him into the water. 

Satisfied that he was able to swim, Mia removed her clothes and followed suit. The water was temperate and relatively shallow in this part of the bay. 

Finding her in the water, Zevran grabbed her thighs and wrapped them around him, keeping them there until she was writhing and moaning against the jetty. 

Seaweed in her hair and salt on his skin, the resulting release was liberating. To be as exposed as could be in the city of Crows, no longer holed up on their vineyard or fearing their weekly trip to the market. 

“ _This_ is what I want,” he said, forehead pressed against hers. “I want to be free.” 

His pain brought her sorrow in a way not many people could, and it was not the first time he had said it. He could have requested his freedom a hundred times and she would still be lost on how to give it to him. Not in Ferelden, and not now. “I know, _vhenan_ _,_ ” she said. “I know. And one day you shall have it.” 

“Perhaps.” Zevran pulled away from her and turned towards the horizon. Moonlight glittered on the still waters beneath it, reflections dancing on his skin. There was so much he wanted and he sometimes feared he could have none of it at all. He was a follower, not a leader, and it would always be that way. Yet he had repressed the notion that he would have done better to remain a Crow. Mia forced him to repress it. 

“I _want_ you to have it,” Mia said, moving through the water and reaching for his hand. When her fingers curled around it, he smiled weakly. “What was it you said? That one day we’d watch the sun set over Rialto Bay, drinking Seleny wine on our balcony? That one day you’d take me swimming? We've done all of that, and more.” 

But that was not enough for Zevran, and he knew that despite Mia’s words, it was not enough for her either. “I don’t want to have to drink to do it without fear.” 

Mia rested her head on his shoulder. “You won’t have to,” she said. “You have me.” 


	15. Avalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:37 Dragon. Still living on the outskirts of Antiva City, Mia and Zevran receive an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW reminder for gore and references to suicide.

Red skies, darkspawn, and a king who was destined to die. In her dreams, Mia had returned to Ostagar, sprinting across bloodstained battlements with Alistair at her side. Duncan had been there too, and it was his face that made her wake. 

Breathless and covered in sweat, she threw back the thin linen sheets and reached for a candle. Even now, she resented Duncan, yet at the time she had mourned his death. Her dependency on that man was a weakness she tried to forget about, but she could never forget how her clan stood by as he dragged her to Ostagar. _Kicking and screaming,_ just as he warned. 

But Duncan was dead now, and her clan had not seen her in seven years. If it were not for Zevran, she would have felt alone in this world. He was beside her now, curled into the sheets and fast asleep. For all his own nightmares, Mia thought he seemed happier in recent years, no longer woken by the cries of Rinnala or the taunting of Taliesen. 

Mia pulled back the curtains and pushed open the shutters, moonlight reflected by the sheen of her skin. Wispy clouds obscured a full moon, shrouding the vineyard in a pale blue veil. She could see the city from here, the towering spires of the Royal Palace and a thousand glowing windows scattered about the hills. The city never seemed to sleep. From here it looked like a painting, yet Mia knew to keep her distance. The city never slept, and neither did the Crows. 

The bedroom was silent, save the flickering of the candle and the rustle of the trees outside. Zevran was a quiet sleeper and if it were not for the shock of blonde poking out from the sheets, he may as well have not been there. 

Knowing sleep would now be hard to achieve, Mia decided to head downstairs for a snack. Yesterday they made fresh bread and spiced it as an experiment, leftovers still fresh in the cupboard. Barefoot and dressed in only a tunic, she slipped through the corridor, down the staircase, and into the kitchen. It was well stocked, with racks full of wine and herbs strung from the ceiling to dry. With the market nearby, they wanted for little. Life was easier now. 

Setting the candle down on the surface, Mia reached for the cupboard where they stored their bread. 

Something creaked behind her then; a crack that echoed in the corridor. Such a sound would usually pass her by. The farmhouse was a hundred years old, after all. It creaked all the time. 

And yet something felt very wrong. 

“Zev?” she called, grabbing the candle and spinning around. There was no response. 

Thinking nothing more of it, she shook her head and went to grab the bread. It was slightly stale, but she was hungry, and it tasted just as good as she remembered. Stuffing the bread into her mouth, she took her candle and left the kitchen, feeling recovered from her nightmare and ready to go back to sleep. 

It was when she reached the bottom of the stairs that the sense of dread returned to her. The key was usually in the front door. Now, it was not. It was their routine to check the house was locked before bed – paranoia, perhaps, but a necessary precaution. It was fortunate that Mia glanced over, because when she rushed over to the door and turned the handle, it swung wide open in the wind. 

For a moment she stood on the doorstep, staring out over the moonlit garden and trying to make sense of it all. The subsequent realisation hit her like a tonne of bricks. Heart pounding, she snuffed out the candle and raced up the stairs, stepping two at a time. 

“Zev!” she called frantically, trying to wake him. 

As she burst into the bedroom, she saw her paranoia was justified. The figure that stood by the bed was obscured by the shadows, not quite lit by the moonlight, but her blonde curls and dark black cloak were enough for Mia to know who it was. In one hand, she held a sharp dagger, and in the other, a flask of poison. Quiet Death, to be exact. A poison that even the Crows were known to fear. 

Grandmaster Avalia was determined to succeed this time, but Mia would have died before she let that happen. 

Startled by Mia’s approach, Availa panicked and stabbed at Zevran with her knife. Yet the commotion woke Zevran just in time. He rolled over in reflex, watching in horror as the knife pierced the pillow next to his head. 

“This ends now!” Avalia cried, leaping over the bed and chasing Zevran across the room. 

Shaking himself awake, Zevran dodged the knife she threw at him and pulled it out of the wall, squinting into the shadows. When Mia rushed to attack, Avalia spun around and struck her hard across the cheek, fingers adorned with a jagged piece of metal. The Grandmaster was not here to play fair. 

Mia let out a muffled cry as she doubled over and fell to her knees. She tried to say something but spat blood onto the tiles instead. 

There was nothing Zevran could do to help. It was an unfortunate sequence of events and they had both been outplayed. Without hesitation, Avalia lunged forward with a new set of daggers and tried to stab him before Mia could get back up. Unfortunately, Zevran only had one knife to defend himself, but he parried her attacks as best he could and kicked her back onto the bed when she tried to corner him. 

“I thought you wanted to capture me, not kill me,” Zevran said, trying his best to restrain her, just as he had done at the masquerade. 

But Avalia was stronger this time, shaking free her wrists and slicing him across the chest. “I changed my mind,” she said. 

When Mia stumbled over to the bed, Avalia brought up her knees and kicked Zevran so hard in the face that he staggered backwards onto the nightstand, smashing the glasses that had been sat on top of it. He cried out, half in agony and half in anger, pain surging through his jaw as he tumbled onto the floor. 

“We killed in self-defence,” Mia said, trying to reason with her. “We never wanted this.” 

Avalia let out a crazed laugh. “And do you think I wanted this life? I am just trying to get by. Zevran had his duties, and so did I. He brought this upon himself.” 

Realising that discussion was pointless, Mia rushed over to Zevran. But she was too slow and too late. Avalia grabbed at her hair and yanked Mia back towards her, hooking a dagger under her chin when Zevran found his feet. 

“What will you do now, Zevran?” Avalia taunted, letting him watch as Mia struggled. “How many will die for your own selfish fantasies? Did you ever stop to think that perhaps we _all_ want to be free?” 

“Let her go,” he said, approaching her slowly. 

The Grandmaster pressed the blade into Mia’s skin. “One step closer and she dies.” 

Zevran could not have imagined a worse scenario. First Rinnala, then Taliesen. If Mia died too, he could not have lived with himself. He thought perhaps Avalia was right, that his former comrades were not so different from he: they _all_ wished for a better life, but died just so Zevran could have his. 

“What do you want?” Zevran asked, desperately trying to remain calm. His knife clattered to the floor as he dropped it, metal reflecting moonlight, illuminating the resignation on his face. “Here, I submit,” he said, holding up his hands in demonstration. “Take me to Velabanchel if you must, just... let her go. _Please_.” 

“You’ve had that chance for seven years,” Avalia said, pressing the knife harder as Mia tried to speak. “The Crows still want you alive. But I want you dead. So, what is it to be? Will you be a brave little Crow and give yourself up? Or are you going to kill her too?” 

The wind slammed the shutters against the wall, filling the silence as Zevran considered his words. He looked at Mia, and she knew. She knew before he said anything at all that he was going to let himself die. _Don’t you dare,_ she wanted to scream. And yet Zevran was so very tired, all these years of betrayal and murder and running – he just wanted it all to stop. He had wanted it to stop when he left for Ferelden. The thought never left him, as much as Mia told herself it had. Zevran knew his death was long overdue, and he refused to let any more suffer in his attempts to avoid it. 

A house by a vineyard, two dead guildmasters, a blackmailed Talon, and a dozen allied cuchillos. It all meant nothing now, Zevran realised. He would never be free.   
  
He looked to Mia with the same defeated expression he had given Taliesen right before he killed him. Only this time, Zevran was the victim. Dark curls and the smell of lavender, a man with hands that made his own feel small, a Dalish huntress with a curse in her blood. These were the colours of his heart, their hues staining a canvas that was meant to be empty. Mia once told him her heart was a grave, but in many respects, his was too.   
  
_For the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself,_ he once said _._ It was different now. 

_…But I would rather walk alone if it meant you would die there._

“Make your decision,” Avalia said, blood welling on the tip of her dagger. “Or I’ll have to make it for you.” 

Zevran fell to one knee and closed his eyes. “I have made it. Do what you must.” 

A wide grin spread across Avalia’s face, satisfied at his decision. The grandmaster was taking no chances now; she had waited years for this moment. It would have been foolish of her to spare Mia - the cost simply outweighed the benefit, and she merely wanted to see what Zevran chose. She wanted to see him submit. 

“Apologies, Arlessa,” Avalia whispered, kissing Mia’s cheek before drawing the blade across her neck. 

Chaos ensued after that. 

When Mia realised what was happening, she grabbed Avalia’s wrist as it sliced her skin, pulling her arm back just enough to ensure the cut was shallow. It still hurt, it still bled, and Mia cried out as it happened, falling to the floor when Zevran launched himself at them. 

The three of them struggled on the floor of that bedroom, blood seeping through Mia’s fingers as she cupped the scratch on her neck. Avalia wrestled herself on top of Zevran in a desperate rage, screaming and punching and determined to come out the victor. But this time Mia could help, so she grabbed Avalia’s hair with her free hand and pulled her head back until the grandmaster fell to the floor. 

Filled with a fury Mia had never seen, Zevran held Avalia down without mercy, no longer wanting to talk or to make deals that existed only to be broken. All he wanted now was to see her torn apart, he wanted her blood to stain every board on his bedroom floor. 

“You wanted freedom?” Zevran cried, taking the knife Mia handed to him. He plunged it into her chest, once, twice, three times. In fact, he was unable to stop. It was as it had been with Runn, only worse. “Here is your freedom.” 

“Zev, stop.” Still holding her neck, Mia stumbled over to the nightstand and tried to light a candle. It took her a moment, but she managed to light it. 

The room was a mess. Shattered glasses, sheets strewn across the room, tapestry ripped from the wall. And now the floor was ruined. Mia found an injury kit inside one of the drawers and began to patch herself up, sipping on one of the potions they had stashed away for emergencies. 

She could have intervened. _Should_ have intervened. But Mia simply sat on the edge of their bed and watched as Zevran continued to stab. Gore was not something that affected Mia. For as long as she could remember she had been numb to it, still unable to place exactly why that was. It was something Zevran found intriguing about her, but right now his mind was elsewhere. 

“It’s alright,” Mia said eventually. She could see he was out of breath and struggling to continue on with his frenzy. Avalia was unrecognisable now. “She’s gone.” 

Her words grounded him a little and he dropped the knife. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Can’t do what?” Mia knelt down beside him, taking his hand and squeezing it. 

Zevran swallowed hard. He did not desire freedom through death in the same way he had when he took his final contract. The thoughts lingered sometimes, shadows of a past he wished to forget, but a part of him had also healed. What he wanted was to untether Mia from himself, for he was the most illogical decision she ever made. He knew this. The guilt hung over him like a suffocating shadow, and he felt worn down. 

“I want you to leave,” he whispered. “Go back to Ferelden and leave me with this.” 

“I refuse.” 

“It was not a request, Mia,” he said, tone cold as he pulled away his hand. 

Chest heavy with emotion and neck still stinging from her wound, Mia pushed herself up and began to pace across the room. “Seven fucking years and you’re just going to, what? Push me away like all this is suddenly a risk? It’s always been a risk!” 

“And it feels like it is only getting worse,” he said. “Please. I am tired of this. How I feel for you is no secret, but that has always been the problem, hasn’t it?” 

Mia clenched her jaw; she knew what this was about. It was about Rinnala and his fear of reliving a past he wanted to forget. “You think you’re the only one that hurts because of this, but you’re not. My heart is broken too. You’re afraid of having something else to be guilty about, but I'm afraid to lose another lover to risk and recklessness.” _Just like_ _Tamlen_ , she thought. “We are echoes of each other’s past.” 

“I know,” he said. It was something he realised a very long time ago. 

Returning to his side, Mia hooked a finger under his chin so that he would look up at her. “Let us forge something new. We can be more than the shadows that haunt us. We can be something _else_. Something better.” 

“I am scared,” he said honestly, imparting that truth only because he loved her. 

She held out a hand for him. It was sticky with blood but so was his, so he took it and let her help him up. 

Before they could press the issue further, there was a loud knock at the door, followed by a bang and pounding footsteps that echoed up the staircase. 

Startled, the elves took what weapons they could and positioned themselves either side of the bedroom door - a routine they had practiced several times before. It was necessary given the dangerous lives they led. 

When the dark figure entered the room, they noticed the crossbow immediately and realised it was Gio. It made him jump when his friends emerged from the shadows. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Gio cursed, finger twitching back from the crossbow trigger. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Maker... is that Avalia?” 

“Yes,” Zevran said, unashamed of what he had done. 

Pacing over to the window, Gio scanned the vineyard as if expecting visitors. “The Crows know your address. You’re lucky I found out.” His eyes glanced over the mess in their bedroom. “I tried to get here as fast as I could.” 

“But why would Avalia tell the Crows?” Mia asked, rushing over to the window in a panic. The road was empty for now. “She was trying to kill Zev, and that goes against her orders. I know she owns Arainai but...” 

Gio pulled a bag from their wardrobe, gesturing for them to pack their things. “It’s worse than that. Nuncio isn’t just a noble. He’s a Crow. The corruption doesn’t surprise me at all, I just wish I’d found out sooner.” 

“Then how many Talons has he ratted us out to? How many actually care?” Zevran asked, staring at the bag on their bed. 

“I don’t know,” Gio said. “And that’s why you have to go. I ran to the portside before I came. Told Salvail to get his ship up to Treviso – that's where we’re going. There’s no way you can go back to Antiva City now.” 

With no time to question it, the elves packed as many valuables as they could. Clothes, medicines, dry food, a necklace that belonged to Mia’s father, Dalish gloves that reminded Zevran of his mother. Everything they owned, reduced to one bag that was bursting at the seams and awkward to carry. They were not even sure they had everything they needed. 

Knowing the Crows would break in regardless, they locked the front door and took the key, escaping under the shadow of olive trees and rolling vineyards. All three of them were sleep deprived but they pushed onwards, with no horses or carriage to take them. 

Treviso was a long way from here. 


End file.
